Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness
by justicemuffins
Summary: Steve wasn't sure right away what asexuality was, but he was more than willing to learn. Much to Phil's surprise. -A series of Capsicoul drabbles written for one-word prompts.-
1. Options

One of my headcanons is that Phil's asexual, so I've decided to try my hand at writing a series of drabbles and one-shots for Capsicoul with this in mind. They're all written off one-word prompts and don't necessarily follow any particular continuity. I have a masterlist I'm working from, but if you have any words in particular that you'd like prompted, feel free to PM me or drop it in my ask box on tumblr. (My url is the same as my pen name here.)

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of it!**

* * *

"Stop."

Steve freezes in place at the words, drawing back and away from Phil. It wasn't a word he'd ever heard Phil use when they were alone like this. The way the agent's hands had gently pushed him away was worrisome. He's sure he's done something terribly wrong and that the agent will be asking him to leave shortly, but he can't for the life of him think of what it is. It's been a long day. He'd been glad to finally get some time alone, they'd been kissing languidly on the sofa and Phil hadn't seemed bothered… What had he done? Granted, a relationship was rather new to him in the first place, but surely they hadn't changed that much over the years? As far as he knows, he hasn't done anything that could be considered untoward.

"We need to talk," Phil says as he leans forward, clasping his hands and resting his elbows on his knees.

"Sure," Steve answers, leaning back in his seat and letting his hands fall in his lap. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No. Let me make that clear, you haven't done anything wrong," Phil tells him, catching his eye. "This is something about me that you need to know before we go any further. I want to make sure you know you still have options."

Steve blows out a harsh breath. "Phil, we've been over this. You know I'm not going to cut and run at the first pretty face."

"That's not exactly what I'd like to discuss," Phil says. He looks contemplative and, if Steve is reading him correctly, a bit nervous. He wonders what the agent has to say that's rattled him to such a degree that his anxiety is even moderately detectable. Phil looks to him again. "Steve, do you know what asexuality is?"

Steve screws up his face in concentration, trying to recall the varied types of sexuality that Tony and Clint have tried to educate him on. The word is familiar in the sense that he's certain he's heard it before, but the meaning escapes him. He runs a hand through his hair, shooting the shorter man an apologetic smile.

"Sorry, I don't quite remember," he admits.

"Well," Phil begins, "the definition can be fairly broad, but the long and short of it is that an asexual finds no sexual attraction in other people. For some, that means they don't engage in sexual activity. Are you with me so far?"

Steve nods slowly. "And… you're asexual?"

Phil simply dips his head in a nod before resting his chin on his clasped hands. He's not looking at Steve.

"You thought this would be a problem?" Steve presses further.

"It typically tends to be," Phil tells him. "I understand it's still very early on, but I thought it might be best if I introduced the idea to you now before either of us become… committed."

"I'm not looking for an easy out," Steve says, a little annoyed by the implication.

"I'm not saying you are, I'm just—"

"Afraid," Steve says point blank.

Phil doesn't say anything. Steve hadn't expected him to. The super soldier heaves a heavy sigh; when had the night changed so suddenly? But this is important. He can see that this is important to Phil and if it's important to Phil than it's something he wants to understand.

"Look, it's fine, okay? This is all new to me, you know, dating a fella and all, and you know very well that I've never, well…" Steve says, trailing off. "What I mean is, even making love to a woman is something I only know in theory. I'm not in this for… that. I'm in this for you."

He can see Phil is moved by his words, but there's still doubt in the agent's eyes.

"If I don't react physically in certain ways, it's not because of anything you've done or because you're not trying hard enough," Phil explains. He frowns. "Perhaps not now, but in the future, I anticipate that sex is something you'll want to try. While there aren't many things I wouldn't do for you… this is one of them."

"I have no intention of doing anything you don't want to. If you don't want it, I won't push it," Steve says, looking to the other man pleadingly. "You know, you make it sound like I'm the kind of guy who ups and leaves because he's refused sex."

"That was never my intention," Phil answers, his tone apologetic.

"No, it's all right. I understand what you're telling me, or at the very least, I understand the basic idea," Steve tells him. He'd have to do some further reading on this and perhaps talk to Pepper. He didn't quite trust Tony and Clint with something of this nature. "What I need you to do is understand that I'm not leaving."

"You can, though."

"I don't want to."

"If at a later point—"

"Do you _want_ me to leave, Phil?"

"No, of course not."

"Then I'm staying."

Phil simply nods at the announcement, sitting quietly until Steve leans over and kisses him. He laughs when the super soldier draws back and asks if it's still all right to do that. He tells the other man that he's not made of glass, that if Steve ever did anything to make him uncomfortable, he'd say so. The bashful smile he gets in answer is enough to convince him things might be okay this time.


	2. Coma

Steve still remembers the long wait for Phil to wake up. He remembers the way the agent's chest would rise and fall with each breath forced into his lungs by the ventilator. He remembers the steady beep and hum of machinery. Mostly he remembers being willing to wait however long it took while simultaneously praying Phil would wake up soon. It had been disheartening going back day after day and seeing no change, but the nurses had told him it was to be expected. Phil was lucky to be alive, they had said.

He'd gone every day that he could. Usually he had company (the other Avengers had set up a roster for sitting with him, apparently) but there had been days when he'd been alone. Those were the times he'd liked to talk to Phil, tried to coax him to wakefulness. He'd been so still.

He's still now. But it's different. His breaths are natural, easy. The expression on his face is one of peace, nothing like the expressionless mask the coma provided. Phil's fallen asleep on the sofa with paperwork in his lap. Steve takes a moment to appreciate the picture; the agent is leaning against the armrest, his head propped on the knuckles of his right hand, his left still holding the pen poised over the form he'd been filling out (oh, he'll be _so_ angry when he sees that ink blot).

Carefully, Steve sits on the couch beside him. He's careful not to reach out and touch, knowing full well that doing so with an experienced S.H.I.E.L.D. agent is not a bright idea. (He'd found that out the hard way once, with Natasha, and had adopted it as a general rule.)

"Phil," he says softly.

He can't help but grin as the agent's eyes open immediately. Phil's a light sleeper; whether by training or nature, he hasn't figured out yet.

"Finish the reports and come to bed," he says, knowing by now that the latter request will never precede the former.

"Ten minutes," Phil says, his pen already gliding across the form.

Steve waits with him, reaching over and extracting the pen from Phil's grasp the second he sees the last line written. Phil gives him that half-serious chastising look and Steve has half a mind to kiss it right off his face. Instead, he neatly places the forms in a folder and locks them in the safe in the closet. Phil's loitering in the doorway to the bedroom, turning to go inside only once Steve is immediately behind him. They change their attire for bed and slip beneath the sheets, turning the lights out.

Sometimes, Steve watches Phil sleep, sometimes it's the other way around. But more than anything, Steve likes to watch Phil wake. It's something he doesn't think he'll ever tire of.


	3. Warmth

Contrary to popular belief, Phil does not, in fact, know everything about Steve. Phil knows what the history books and biographies have told him. While this is a great deal of information about Captain America, it barely scrapes the surface of Steve Rogers. There is a particular joy that comes with learning things about Steve; for the most part. There are some things about the Man out of Time that are less than happy finds.

Steve hates the cold.

Phil discovers this fairly early on in their relationship, after they've had their talk but before either of them had stayed the night with the other.

The rogue mutant is fairly easy to take down between all of them, but not before he gets his punches in. Phil watches with carefully concealed horror as the liquid-manipulating mutant traps both Steve and Tony in floating spheres of water. At first, Phil thinks he's trying to drown them—he changes his mind when the water freezes into giant balls of ice. Tony is safe inside the Iron Man suit, but Steve doesn't have that benefit.

A well-placed arrow from Hawkeye is eventually what does it. The spheres of ice very abruptly shift back to a liquid state; dropping out of the sky like someone's popped a water balloon. Tony shakes it off fairly quickly, muttering angrily all the while, but Steve is a different story.

Phil makes sure their target is neutralized—he really is a fan of those special knock-out arrows, he'll have to commission more of them from R&D—and being loaded into a transport vehicle headed towards a S.H.I.E.L.D. detention facility before he moves to Steve's side. The Captain is on his hands and knees, coughing up lungfuls of water. He places a hand on the super soldier's back, feeling shakes rattle through his large frame like an earthquake through California.

"Steve, it's all right. Just breathe; in and out," Phil coaches gently as Steve struggles for air. "You've got this."

Steve just nods his head as they stay there, crouched on the wet pavement as his breathing evens out. But the shaking doesn't stop. Even as they sit on the Quinjet, Steve remains huddled miserably in the corner, not speaking to any of them. It clicks for him then, and he's certain he knows what's wrong.

Phil takes control once they return to Avengers Tower, ushering the Captain up to his floor and to the bathroom. He turns the shower on, cranking up the heat to a level that's as hot as he can go without making it unbearable, and then turns back to Steve. He's sitting on the toilet lid with his head bowed and his hands clasped so tightly his knuckles have gone white. He still hasn't stopped shaking.

Phil's not sure why Steve opted to remove his gloves but not the cowl; perhaps it makes him feel secure. The agent hesitates for the length of a heartbeat before he reaches out with both hands, pushing the cowl back. To his surprise, Steve turns his face, leaning into the touch. He reaches up and wraps fingers that feel like ice around Phil's wrist, keeping him there.

"Take the uniform off and get in the shower," Phil instructs. "When you feel like coming out, I'll have some dry clothes on the toilet seat for you. Change into them and I'll have the bed ready when you're done. All right?"

Steve nods and Phil draws away, closing the door of the bathroom behind him. He gathers a comfortable looking pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, adding boxers and thick wool socks to the top of the pile. He knocks before he slips back into the bathroom and lays the clothes on top of the toilet seat. The frosted glass of the shower door allows him to see enough to know that Steve is sitting on the floor of the shower. Phil collects the damp, discarded uniform and drops it in the hamper, knowing JARVIS will have it seen to.

He exits the bathroom and makes a beeline to the bed in the adjoining bedroom. He pulls back the covers, props the pillows in a way he knows will be comfortable and grabs a spare blanket from the top shelf in the closet for good measure. When the bed is set to his liking, he makes his way to the kitchen. It isn't until he hears the shower stop that he starts boiling the water. Steve is already burrowed beneath the covers when Phil walks in carrying a steaming mug of tea. He places it on the nightstand and sits on the edge of the bed.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Phil asks, his tone evident that he's not pressing Steve to do so.

Steve isn't looking at him when he shakes his head 'no.' Phil nods to this. There's no reason to push the Captain to talk. Recalling the episode in the bathroom, he reaches out once again and runs his fingers through still-damp blonde hair, which earns him a deep sigh as Steve's eyes close. He repeats the action, over and over, until he thinks the other man must have fallen asleep.

Carefully, he rises from the bed, knowing he has incident reports to fill out, but he's stopped by a hand around his wrist. He looks to Steve with raised eyebrows.

"Will you stay the night?" Steve asks.

The question throws him off guard. It's not something they've discussed and he can see that Steve is worried about his reaction, but not worried enough to keep himself from asking. This concerns Phil.

"You don't have to," Steve is quick to say. "I know we haven't… I don't want you to be uncomfortable. But if you would, then I'd like it if you…"

Steve often has trouble asking for things. It's as though he feels asking places some terrible burden on the other party. But with how he's certain Steve must be feeling, Phil isn't about to refuse him.

"Of course," he replies, marveling at the way Steve's face suddenly relaxes at the two words.

He slips out of his jacket, removed his tie and belt, toes out of his shoes. As he climbs into the bed, he feels strong arms wrap around his waist. Steve is scooted further down the bed than Phil is, so when he hugs the agent close, his face presses to Phil's chest.

"I don't like being cold," Steve murmurs into his shirt after twenty minutes.

"I don't blame you," Phil answers.

"It's not always like this. I don't like the cold, but it's fine. This time was just…" Steve says, trailing off.

"A little too familiar," Phil finishes for him.

Steve nods into his shirt. Phil can read him like a book. Steve hates admitting weaknesses and he guarantees that's how Steve's feeling now.

"We've all got things we don't handle well, Steve," he tells him. "They don't make us weak."

Steve doesn't answer that. They lie like that, with Steve holding onto Phil and Phil continuing to card his hand through Steve's hair. Phil's sure he's fallen asleep when he hears the super soldier's voice again.

"You're warm."

He hums in something that might be agreement.

"And you're here."

"Yes."

"Thank you."

Phil says nothing, choosing to hum once more in recognition and continue to run his fingers through the Captain's hair until he falls asleep. In truth, there aren't many things he can do for Steve. He's an ordinary man, while Steve is a super soldier, an Avenger. But if he can do this one, small thing, if he can act as an anchor for a little while, then Steve is welcome to whatever warmth he has to give.


	4. Piano

Steve always notices the grand piano in the communal living room, but he's never seen anyone play it. He wonders if Tony even knows how to play the piano. He wonders if any of them know.

Steve knows.

No one else is around as he brushes his hand across the piano. His fingers tickle the keys soundlessly. It seems like such a shame that it just sits there collecting dust. Well, not collecting dust, exactly. JARVIS keeps a very clean house. But it's a tragedy when a gorgeous instrument goes unplayed. He looks around to ensure he is the only one on the floor before he sits at the bench and splays his large hands over the keys. He takes a deep breath and he plays.

It's been years since he's touched a piano. He's forgotten what it's like to get lost the joy of making music. With his eyes closed and his fingers moving fluidly, he doesn't notice anyone watching him.

"I didn't know you played."

His fingers slip, hammering out a painful discord as he smothers a startled noise between his lips. He turns in his seat and shoots a look at the man behind him.

"Jesus, Phil, I didn't even know you were there."

"That's what they pay me for."

Steve snorts at the statement as Phil draws near.

"I've never seen you play," Phil tells him.

"It's been a while. I guess I just never thought to try it while everyone was watching," Steve admits.

"You should. You play very well," Phil replies. He looks thoughtful for a moment. "Have you ever played a duet?"

"Yeah, I used to with the woman who taught me. Mrs. Hemshaw down the street used to babysit me while my mother was at work and she taught me how to play," Steve says. He looks to the agent questioningly. "You play?"

"A bit," Phil says.

"Well… would you like to try one?" Steve asks.

"I've got time before I need to report to Fury," Phil says with a shrug. "Sure."

Steve readily scoots down the bench and makes room for the shorter man. It's a little bit of a snug fit, as the bench isn't truly made for two people, but neither of them are very bothered. He looks to Phil for confirmation as the agent cracks his knuckles in anticipation.

"Anything you had in mind?" Steve asks.

"That depends. Have you ever played Canon in D Major?" Phil returns.

"Pachelbel's Canon," Steve says, a knowing grin spreading across his face. "Well, since I'm seated left, I guess that means I'll be taking Secondo and you've got Primo. That all right with you?"

"More than," Phil responds as he lifts his hands to the keys.

Steve shouldn't be surprised by the level of proficiency with which Phil plays, but he is. He grins broadly and nudges the shorter man with his elbow.

"Just 'a bit' then, huh?" he says.

"I never bothered with more than a few lessons," Phil answers.

"Oh, now you're just showing off," Steve says.

The shorter man's eyes slide to his and he's taken by the warmth there. He keeps sneaking glances at the agent as they play, studying him. He likes Phil like this. He looks relaxed, unguarded, but more than that… he looks happy. Steve divides his attention between the music and the man, marveling at the subtle differences between "Phil" and "Agent." He doesn't know how he can be responsible for the slight smile tugging at the man's lips or the look in his eyes that is nothing short of adoration. Phil is a warm, solid presence at his side and the music they make is something Steve knows is important; it carries with it the feeling of the words that neither of them will say just yet.

He hears people talk about being connected when they make love and yet he can't imagine being more connected than they are right then. Sex is an important part in relationships, but it's not the only part, nor the most important one. He realizes this is how Phil is. That he establishes connections by means that most people find ordinary. He says things without ever speaking a word. Whatever it is they have, he knows it's something special. He feels it deep down, in his bones, or perhaps deeper where others will never reach. He promises himself he's never going to let go of it.

_"Sing us a soooooong, you're the piano maaaaaaaan! Sing us a song toniiiiiiiiiiiiiiight!"_

Steve muffles a curse as Tony's voice—loud and annoyingly on-key—cuts through the sounds of the piano. Phil stops playing abruptly, folding his hands in his lap and shifting back to Agent. Annoyed by having the moment ruined, Steve looks over his shoulder to tell the billionaire off… and notices they have company.

"How long have you all been standing there?" Steve sighs in defeat.

"Only a minute or two. Promise," Bruce replies, looking apologetic.

"We really didn't want to interrupt," Pepper adds, her look matching Bruce's. "Phil, you never told me you could play the piano."

The agent shrugs and turns slightly to look at her. "It never came up."

"Count yourself lucky, Cap. He hasn't played since Russia in '07," Natasha informs him, her gaze trained on her handler.

Phil chooses that moment to excuse himself, citing paperwork which needs to be completed and a meeting with Fury that he won't be late for. Steve feels a sudden pang of disappointment as the agent leaves and the others disperse. He's going to find a way to pay Tony back for ruining this. He's surprised, though, when Hawkeye lingers.

"He likes Debussy," Clint informs him. "Try playing Clair de Lune when he's nearby. That's one of his favorites."

Steve gives him a disbelieving look. Clint shrugs.

"I'd be a shitty asset of I didn't know a thing or two about the guy after all this time," the archer says.

"Right, well… thanks, Clint. Really," Steve answers with a nod.

"Any time. Don't want you fucking this up, after all," Clint says as he's leaving.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Steve tells the empty room.


	5. Shadows

**A/N: Trigger warning for homophobia.**

* * *

Things have been rough on Steve and Phil since the incident at the airport. Pepper volunteers to handle PR on the situation and two weeks after, the tabloids show no sign of slowing down. In fact, despite her best efforts, they seem to be getting worse. The wear is most visible on Steve, Tony thinks, but he sees it in Phil's eyesand he hears it from Pepper. She lies next to him in bed at night and talks. It's what she does when she's worried, and she's definitely worried. It's hard not to be.

Steve and Phil have been very careful and very quiet about their relationship. Outside Avengers Tower or S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ, their behavior suggests nothing more than colleagues. Steve is a national icon, and while he himself has no qualms about dating a man, the press is a different story. Phil was the one to bring it up, surprisingly, according to Steve. The agent wanted the public to be eased into the idea. He wanted this to be as easy on Steve as possible.

So much for that.

Tony still remembers the front page of the newspaper the next day; a grainy, blown up cell photo of the quick, chaste kiss Steve had pressed to Phil's lips beneath the headline of **CAPTAIN AMERICA GAY?** And since then, it hasn't stopped. Steve can't leave the Tower without being bombarded by press. Tony's seen just about every headline and story he can think of, from articles detailing how Steve represents the decline of American society, to how he should be doing more to support the LGBTQ, to how he was unfit as a national icon. The list just isn't ending and it isn't easy for Phil, either. Phil Coulson is a very private man, and suddenly everyone is trying to find out about the man dating Captain America. Thankfully, Phil's information is sealed within S.H.I.E.L.D.'s database and extra measures have been taken to ensure no one gets a hold of it (thank you Nick Fury) but that doesn't cover all the bases. Suddenly, old high school classmates are being dug up, Marines from his old unit, hell, even the girl at the coffee shop that he likes downtown is talking. Everyone has something to say about a man they don't know, it seems.

Tony's had it one day when they're preparing to return from an assignment. Just a minor alien invasion—cute little fuzzballs, really. Until they show you their teeth. And the fact that they get bigger from eating inorganic materials like, say, cars and building and lampposts and everything else that makes up a city.

They're a little banged up, but aside from Bruce desperately needing a new set of clothes (he can only hold up the shredded remains of his pants for so long), they're otherwise all right. It's not unusual for these days for civilians on the scene to come out of wherever they've been hiding to thank them, except today is a little different.

Steve just stands there a little dumbstruck when someone from the crowd comes forward and spits on his shield.

"Fucking faggot," the man hisses. "You're a disgrace to that uniform. You don't deserve to wear the stars and stripes. This country doesn't need any _cocksucking fags_ wearing its colors."

Steve doesn't do much other than stare at the man as he continues ranting and apparently going for the Guinness record for most gay slurs spoken in a single sitting. Tony's no idiot; Steve can pretend to not be bothered by it at all, but Tony knows this guy has hit a nerve. Steve doesn't regret his relationship with Phil, that much they all know, but with the way he's been hung out to dry by people who've never even met him takes a toll. If there's one thing Steve can't stand, it's letting his country down. With so many people accusing him of doing just that, it's hardly any wonder that Captain America's been looking a little run down lately. Tony decides this guy is the last straw. It's time the Avengers send a message.

As it turns out, Thor seems to have a similar idea. Tony's surprised when the god of thunder beats him to it, grabbing the offender and hoisting him off the ground.

_"You dare speak ill of my comrades?"_ Thor booms, his face twisted into a vehement scowl.

"I do when they're limp wristed little—"

"You've got quite a pair, haven't you?" Tony interrupts as Thor shakes the man into silence. "Listen here, sunshine. You see that guy over there? The spangly one? Yeah, well, we kind of like him a bit. For a couple of reasons. And the guy he's dating? We kind of like him, too. See, these guys, they've got a couple of things going for them. Honor, for one. Bravery, they kind of bring that in spades. Compassion's kind of thing with them, too. And on top of all this, wouldn't you know, they'll give everything to protect people, which includes you. You know, they'd probably even sacrifice themselves if it meant keeping people safe. Silly me, one of them actually did that already!"

The man is silent, but glaring as Tony gives him his little speech.

"They spend their day fighting to protect your bigoted ass and you don't even have the decency to keep your mouth shut. So I'll tell you what, Chik-fil-a, let's make a deal. You keep your opinions where they belong inside that warped little head of yours and I won't, say… identify you via facial recognition software, find your address, and _accidentally_ misfire a projectile into your house on my next morning outing," Tony croons, a broad grin plastered on his face. "Sound agreeable to you? Good. Thought so. Thor, why don't we let our man take a breather."

Thor drops the man with a snort, uncaring of how he lands on the debris. The god of thunder proceeds to turn back to their group and plucks the shield from Steve's grasp. With a kind of concentration that can only be called endearing, Thor uses his cape to wipe the spit from the shield and hands it back to Steve with a thousand watt smile. Steve returns it in kind.

"Thanks, Thor," he says earnestly.

"All right kids, show's over, let's go home," Tony announces.

"I'm fucking starving," Clint moans. "Please tell me we're eating dinner soon."

"Speak for yourself," Bruce says, suppressing a yawn.

"I'm not eating with any of you until you've showered," Natasha declares.

"You're no spring flower either, 'Tasha," Clint snorts.

"Why do you think I suggested showers?" Natasha responds flatly.

"You people are all alike. That slut of yours would probably spread his legs and moan like a whore for the nearest available cock. I can guarantee he's lost track of all the men he's fucked, just like all you other disease-ridden animals—"

Steve is an officer and a gentleman in very nearly every way imaginable, which is why, Tony thinks to himself, it's sometimes easy to forget what a formidable presence Captain America can be. In fact, Tony quite enjoys the sight of Steve turning on a dime and charging at their bigoted little friend faster than any of them thought him capable of moving. The man is back on the concrete, his nose gushing blood and his eyes glassy. He's lucky that, even at the height of rage, Steve manages an admirable level of restraint.

It's almost surreal as Tony watches the super soldier shake with anger, one comment away from losing his tenuous hold on his self-control. Part of Tony _does_ want to see him lose it, but he knows that, ultimately, it wouldn't be satisfying. So he watches the scene before him instead, just as unwilling as the other Avengers to lift a finger to stop Steve.

"_Don't you ever—**ever**—say that about him again!_" Steve bellows. His voice drops to a dangerous hiss. "Say what you want about me, but you say one more word about him, one more god damn word, and Iron Man is going to be the _least_ of your problems. _Have I made myself clear?_"

Thankfully, New York's finest happen to arrive at that exact moment and spare the man from further comment. Tony believes this is likely a blessing in disguise for the man, as he's sure the guy wasn't done talking just as he's sure Steve would have likely pounded him into the pavement for it. As it is, the responding officers are very quick in their duty; they haul the man off in the back of a squad car, thank the Avengers and suggest that they head on home.

Steve looks agitated and itching for a fight as they drag him off, each of them maintaining some form of physical contact with him.

"Come on, Cap. I'll get a picture of the guy to tie to all your punching bags and we can blow off some steam," Tony tells him.

Steve grumbles at the suggestion, but Tony doesn't miss the pleased glint in his eyes.

* * *

It's night when Phil finds him on the rooftop.

"Stark."

"_Jesus Christ_."

Tony sloshes his drink as he jumps in surprise. He hadn't even known Phil was within three floors of him until he heard the agent's voice just behind his right ear. He turns and shoots the man a slightly annoyed look.

"Do you not remember our talk? The one about you not sneaking up on me like a fucking ninja?" Tony inquires.

"It rings a bell," Phil answers.

"Yeah, well, ring those bells a little louder, Agent," Tony says into his glass.

They stand there silently, watching the city stretched out before them. Tony likes the city at night. He likes the way it glows. It's comforting. It's harder to see shadows at night, he thinks. It conceals them, hides them in plain sight so that you'd never know they were there at all were it not for the harsh light of day that chases them from their hiding spots, revealing them to the world. In the daytime, the shadows seem so much larger. But that's how it has to be, he guesses; the more light, the bigger the shadows the world casts.

"Thank you."

The comment jostles Tony from his quiet reflection and he looks to the man beside him with raised eyebrows.

"Steve was upset. Is upset," Phil corrects himself. "He told me what you said. So thank you."

Tony shrugs awkwardly. This isn't his strong suit, this heart-to-heart stuff. "Please, I just wanted that guy to shut up."

"Of course."

Tony finds it just a little annoying how quickly Phil is wont to go with the direction he provides. But then, he figures Phil's probably not one for this touchy feely stuff, either.

"You know, he barely moved a muscle when the guy was insulting him. Our little friend even spit on him," Tony says, paying a ridiculous amount of attention to the ice cubes melting in his glass. "But he was ready to tear that guy to shreds the second he said anything about you."

Phil doesn't say anything to that, Tony notices. The agent simply continues to watch the city, though his gaze is less focused than it was moments ago.

"It's been hard on him," Phil admits suddenly. "I suggested a temporary separation until it all died down, but he wouldn't have it."

"Like you actually thought he would," Tony says with a snort.

"It was worth a try," Phil responds.

"So this is where you're both hiding."

Tony turns his head slightly to see Pepper and Steve approaching. No one raises an objection as Pepper tucks herself against Tony's side and Steve comes to stand behind Phil; he slings one arm across Tony's shoulders and wraps the other around the agent. They're all pressed together but somehow still separated into Tony & Pepper and Steve & Phil and if Tony looks through his peripheral vision, he can see Phil leaning into the super soldier's touch. For his part, Steve seems happy to press a kiss to Phil's temple that Tony's betting he isn't supposed to see.

The four of them stand there watching the city below. With the lights out, there are no shadows where they stand.

"You know, you people make it absolutely impossible for a man to have a moment to himself."

"Shut up, Tony."


	6. Sunset

_Text message log recovered from the phone of Agent Phillip J. Coulson._

Steve [03:13 AM]: You're missing a great sunset.

Phil [03:15 AM]: That's too bad. It's Pitch black here.

Steve [03:19 AM]: You're coming home in two days though, right?

Phil [03:23 AM]: Two days.  
Phil [03:23 AM]: I'll take a rain check on that sunset you're looking at.

Steve [03:27 AM]: Ha, I'll hold you to it.  
Steve [03:29 AM]: How's Tiksi?  
Steve [03:29 AM]: Not too bad, I hope?

Phil [03:31 AM]: Cool and rainy. All the time. That sunset's sounding nice right about now.

Steve [03:33 AM]: Boy, tell me about it. Are you three all right over there?

Phil [03:37 AM]: Natasha seems to enjoy Clint's misery. Got his wings wet for nothing today.

Steve [03:39 AM]: I see.  
Steve [03:40 AM]: Not a happy hawk, I take it.

Phil [03:42 AM]: No, but he'll live. I have to go. We're moving camps.

Steve [03:42 AM]: All right. Take Care.

Phil [03:43 AM]: Likewise, Captain.

Steve [03:31 AM]: You there?

Phil [03:32 AM]: Here. Keeping an eye on that sunset for me?

Steve [03:34 AM]: You bet. Got another great one today.

Phil [03:39 AM]: I'm hoping they're not all used up by the time I get back.

Steve [03:41 AM]: Forecast looks clear for the next few days. Still rain on your end?

Phil [03:46 AM]: It hasn't stopped.

Steve [03:47 AM]: Jiminy, that's terrible.

Phil [03:50 AM]: I've had worse.

Steve [03:52 AM]: Well, if it makes it any better, I've got a surprise for you when you get back.

Phil [03:55 AM]: Oh? What kind of surprise?

Steve [03:56 AM]: Like I'm going to actually tell you!

Phil [04:03 AM]: Tease.

Steve [04:04 AM]: Just keep thinking of that sunset.  
Steve [04:05 AM]: That might be a hint.  
Steve [04:37 AM]: Phil?  
Steve [04:39 AM]: You there?  
Steve [04:40 AM]: Sorry, must have caught you at a bad time. Get some sleep. We can talk when you've got time.  
Steve [11:03 AM]: Phil?  
Steve [01:29 PM]: When you get this, call me, if you can.  
Steve [09:17 PM]: Are you okay? Just text me a 'k' if you are.  
Steve [03:30 AM]: Where are you?  
Steve [02:46 PM]: You weren't at the extraction point.  
Steve [01:59 PM]: It's been two days. S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn't know where you are.  
Steve [07:10 PM]: Please answer.  
Steve [04:00 AM]: Please.  
Steve [04:05 AM]: I'm coming for you.  
Steve [12:00 PM]: If you're still able to read this, I'm coming for you, Phil. Hold on.


	7. Driven

**A/N:** Though these pieces aren't always in chronological order, this chapter is a follow-up to the previous chapter "Sunset." The agents in this chapter do, in fact exist-you can find them credited in _Thor_. I've simply adopted them a little, haha.

* * *

Jasper Sitwell can't help but glance into the rearview mirror. It's difficult not to. Phil Coulson, wrapped securely in a blanket, is half curled in Steve Rogers' lap in the back seat of the SUV. The Avengers liaison is murmuring deliriously, his eyes glazed with a combination of fever and whatever drugs they've been forcing on him. Clint and Natasha aren't in much better condition, he knows, riding in separate cars. But Jasper's focus for the moment is on the agent and the super soldier under his supervision. At present, he can hear Steve attempting to coax a more active response out of Phil other than his title, name and badge number. It's all Phil's been saying, like a broken record since they'd found him.

"Agent Sitwell, what's our ETA for the rendezvous with the Quinjet?" Steve asks suddenly.

"Approximately thirteen minutes, Captain," Jasper responds.

"I need you to cut it to half of that," Steve tells him.

Jasper purses his lips. He wants that every bit as much as Steve does. His mentor—his _friend_—is in the back seat, injured and lost in a fit of delirium. He'll get hell for deviating from the plan, it will be dangerous, but ultimately well worth it. They need to lose those Russians anyhow. He presses a finger to his earpiece.

"Cale, Garrett. On me," he says simply.

_"Sir, we're not supposed to break formation."_

Steve had figured Delancey would be the one to raise an objection. Of Phil's group, Brent Jackson is the eldest, with a rather laid-back attitude that came from years on the job; Phil is right behind him by two years; Tucker Delancey is two years older than Jasper and seven years younger than Phil; Jon Garrett is four years younger than Jasper; and Colin Cale is the youngest of them all, being three years younger than Garrett. Phil is ranked highest out of all of them, with his Level 8 Security Clearance. Jasper is next in command with a Level 7, Garrett and Cale follow with Level 6, and Delancey and Jackson sit at level 5. Steve has very painstakingly gathered this information over the months, trying to get to know the people who've worked so closely with Phil over the years.

"I'm aware of that, Delancey," Jasper says firmly. "On me."

Steve can't help but smile slightly when he hears a not-so-subtle whoop from Cale and affirmative responses from the others. He holds onto Phil tightly as Jasper takes them off road, accelerating through the forest with the others still managing to keep formation regardless.

Jasper still occasionally glances back at Phil and Steve. If anyone had doubts as to the strength of the relationship between the two of them, they need only catch a glimpse of the look of fierce protectiveness on Captain America's face as he does his best to soothe the man in his arms. Jasper hadn't been sure what to think when Phil had told him that he and Steve were seeing each other. Mostly he'd been worried. Steve had eradicated that worry almost immediately. It's hard not to like the guy in general, but Jasper likes him for reasons beyond the polite Captain America exterior.

"ETA five minutes," Jasper informs him.

"Almost there, Phil," Steve says.

Then it all goes to hell.

Jasper hears the whiz of bullets and the ping of impact. He pushes the SUV faster, shouts for Steve to take Phil and get down. His shirt is wet.

"Jackson, Delancey, four o'clock!" he barks, one finger on his earpiece.

_"Nope, nope, all mine. I call dibs," _Tony says over the line.

Jasper isn't going to argue, especially since Tony takes their attackers out in one shot. As far as he can tell, they're in the clear.

"Agent Sitwell, are you all right?" Steve is asking. His shield is pulled over Phil, hiding him from anyone's sight.

"Yes," Jasper says.

He isn't. But Phil is less all right than he is. He can do this. If Phil can be stabbed by an insane god and live, then Jasper can do something as simple as drive another three minutes.

"I can drive—"

"Captain, your focus needs to be on protecting Agent Coulson. You do your job and let me do mine," Jasper says, interrupting Steve's offer.

Steve looks simultaneously grateful and unhappy at this request. They'd finally gotten Phil back, after days of searching. Natasha, Clint and Phil had been betrayed. A mole. One they'd all somehow missed. Because of that, the one agent they'd overlooked, three of their best people had suffered for it. Quite literally suffered and are still suffering. He's not sure what's in Phil's system, not sure what's due to drugs or his friend's iron will bubbling beneath the surface, but he knows Phil is in a bad way.

Jasper brings the SUV to a screeching halt on the ramp of the first Quinjet he reaches. It closes beneath them as he feels the carrier begin to lift off the ground and he fumbles with his seatbelt, pressing a finger to his earpiece.

"Garrett, Cale, report."

_"Hawkeye, Iron Man, Jackson and Garrett, present and accounted for,"_ Garrett responds.

_"Black Widow, Thor, Dr. Banner, Delancey and Cale, present and accounted for,"_ Cale responds in kind.

"Agent Coulson, Captain America and Sitwell, present and accounted for," he adds, completing the roster as he finally manages to wrangle himself free from his seatbelt. "Follow the predetermined course back to the Helicarrier. Do not break formation for any reason what-so-ever."

He hears two sets of "Roger!" from the comm as he pushed the driver's side door open. At first he thinks it has to be the fact that they're on a moving aircraft as he slides from his seat and feels the world shift beneath him, but he can't ignore the pain in his side as he scrabbles for purchase against the open door. He feels a strong grip around his arm, keeping him upright and looks up to the very worried face of Steve Rogers. The Captain has his shield strapped to his back and Phil nestled with care in one arm. The older agent is still mumbling deliriously into the crook of the super soldier's neck, but he seems to be running out of steam; he's babbling hockey statistics now.

Jasper ineffectually attempts to wave the Captain off.

"Fine. Just… probably should sit for a minute," he hears himself say. His own voice sounds far away. "You should take Phil and… maybe…"

He forgets what he's meant to be saying. He knows this feeling; when the edges of your vision go gray and the rest blurs and everything sounds muffled as you feel like you're falling into yourself. He knows he's about to lose consciousness and has just enough time to be annoyed by the fact.

* * *

It's blurry when Jasper loses consciousness and it's blurry when he regains it. The latter has more to do with the fact that his glasses are missing than any injury, he discovers. He's about to reach out to the table—he assumes it's a table—beside the bed when he feels his glasses being pressed into his hand. After he slips them on, he's greeted by the smiling face of Steve Rogers.

"Hey, you're awake," Steve says, sounding genuinely relieved by the fact.

The super soldier is seated in a chair that sits between two hospital beds. Jasper is in one, Phil is in the other. Even as he looks to Jasper, Steve's hand is gently holding one of Phil's.

"He was asking after you," Steve says.

"How is he?" Jasper asks, trying to sit himself up. He winces when this action produces a sharp pain in his side, just above his hip.

"Probably not a good idea right now. Try using the controls on the bed," Steve says, his tone sympathetic. He continues speaking as Jasper takes his advice. "The doctors say all three of them will be fine. The injuries themselves weren't too severe. It was mainly infection and the cocktail of drugs in their systems. Withdrawal's not going to be pleasant, I'm told, but they'll live. He woke up for a little while and was lucid enough to demand what the status of his agents was. He's gone back to sleep since, as you can see."

Jasper blows out a relieved breath at that. They sit in a comfortable silence for a while. Steve is itching to ask something, though, Jasper can see.

"You're very protective of him," Steve blurts.

"We watch each other's backs," Jasper corrects him.

"You're very protective of him," Steve repeats, slower this time, as though Jasper hadn't heard him right.

He sighs. "Yeah."

"And you trust me to watch his back?" Steve fishes.

"You're Captain America," Jasper replies by way of an explanation.

Steve makes a face, as though he's not quite sure what to say. Jasper wonders what kind of medication they have him on, because a very odd thought occurs to him and he decided to voice it.

"Are you looking for my blessing?" he asks.

Steve's face actually goes a bit red at that and Jasper wonders how this guy's even a real thing.

"Well, not exactly in those terms," Steve says. "But, well… you know, I've learned that you and the other four are closer to Phil than just about anyone at S.H.I.E.L.D. You're his friends, whether he actually refers to you that way or not. Your opinion matters to him, so I want to know whether or not I have your trust in this matter. Because if your opinion matters to him, it matters to me, too."

Steve has a way, Jasper has come to realize, of saying things with the kind of brutal honesty that would be embarrassing and sappy from just about anyone else but oddly humbling from him, which just makes you somehow respect him. So, if that's the game their playing, he decides to be honest right back. And blame it on the drugs later, if anyone asks.

"You earned my trust a while back," he says.

"I did?" Steve asks, looking confused.

"I don't know if you've ever seen the way you look at him, but it's pretty telling," Jasper mumbles. He's drowsy again. He reaches beneath his glasses, rubbing at his dry, itching eyes, wanting to close them again but knowing what will happen if he does. There's more he has to stay. Plus, there's something stupidly amusing about Captain America looking to earn his trust. "He took his coffee with cream and sugar the morning after he went to talk to you."

Steve is glancing at Jasper's IV line questioningly after that statement and he realizes his needs to clarify.

"He usually takes his coffee with just a bit of cream. When things go bad, he drinks his coffee black. If he's in a particularly good mood, he adds sugar," Jasper informs him. "He didn't say it, but I knew he'd decided to talk to you. So I just checked his coffee."

"And that's good enough for you? You're basing your trust in me on a cup of coffee?" Steve asks, looking thrown by the idea.

"That's all I need with Phil. You know just as well as I do that he's a man of few or no words," Jasper retorts. "It's the only time I haven't seen him drinking black coffee after having that talk."

Steve nods as though it's starting to make sense. Jasper closes his eyes and leaves the man to his thoughts. It's bothersome how terribly he wants to go back to sleep. And he figures, being shot, he should probably go ahead and do just that, even if it's horribly inconvenient.

"Thank you for disobeying your orders," he hears Steve say.

He nods with his eyes shut, waves a dismissive hand. He's been taught by the best, after all.


	8. Motorcycle

Phil feels a frown settle on his face as Steve takes residence in his office doorway, a motorcycle helmet hanging from one hand. The super soldier seems to be radiating confidence… for some reason. He's suspicious immediately.

"No," he says.

Steve actually splutters. "You haven't even heard the question!"

"It's still no. If it has anything to do with _that_"—he points at the motorcycle helmet—"then the answer is no,"Phil says.

"I want you to ride home with me," Steve tells him.

"That's not even a question."

"_Phil_."

Steve folds walks into the office and closes the door behind him. He comes to stand in front of Phil's desk, dropping the helmet into the empty seat and folding his arms over his chest.

"Why not?" he asks.

"I just don't believe it would be… appropriate," Phil says delicately.

That seems to sober Steve up somewhat. There's a slightly sad, disappointed air to him that tugs at Phil's heartstrings. He puts his pen down as Steve walks to his side of his desk and sits on the edge of it.

"Is it because we'll be seen in public?" Steve asks, his voice low.

Phil leans back in his seat. "I'm just concerned."

"I'm not going to let anyone do anything, you know. People like that guy Tony and Thor took care of, I'm not going to let them anywhere near you," Steve assures him.

"It's not me I'm worried about," Phil replies.

Steve just looks at him for a minute, not saying anything. Phil watches and translates each subtle expression on his face; he knows the exact moment that Steve understands what he's saying and knows his exact train of thought after the fact.

"Is that why you've been trying so hard not to be seen near me since the Airport Incident?" Steve asks, his tone soft.

"You have a reputation to uphold. I thought it might be easier if we still remained quiet about the exact nature of our relationship," Phil explains carefully. "I'm not ashamed to be seen with you, and I'm not afraid of the cameras or what anyone might write or speculate about me in the tabloids, so you can get those ideas out of your head right now. The simple truth is that they say things that bother you and it bothers me that they say them. I'd like to avoid anything that might cause you any further unhappiness. Even if we're all aware the things they've written about you are false at best and defamation of character at worst, I know they still hurt you in a way that—"

Phil isn't at all prepared when Steve swoops in and kisses him. The super soldier leans toward him, one hand braced against the desk and the other at the base of his skull. The kiss is slow and sweet and tastes—impossibly—of apple pie. His hand finds a way to Steve's knee and rests there. He's not certain how many minutes go by as Steve takes his time, mapping his mouth like he has a hundred times before. He's almost embarrassed by how needy he must seem when Steve begins to draw back and he follows, prompting the soldier to come back without even saying a word.

It seems like ages later when Steve pulls away, pressing a quick kiss to his temple, and Phil is suddenly reminded that he's still in his office. It's a talent of Steve's, kissing him until his mind quiets down and, for once, stops thinking of eight million things at once.

"If you don't want to, that's fine. Just say so. But don't say no for my sake," Steve lectures him, though not unkindly. "Yeah, it's been rough. I'm not going to lie and say a lot of the things people have been writing and saying about me haven't kept me awake more than one night. But the way I see it, they're going to be saying those things regardless of how often we're seen together. I still might not like what they have to say, but if you're willing to stand by my side… then I can be okay with it. I'm sick of what they're saying, but I'm just as sick of having to hide you like you're something to be ashamed of. I'm not ashamed of us. America's just going to have to grow up and accept that."

Phil often wonders how this happened, how he wound up with a man as incredible as Steve Rogers. He's still baffled by the fact that Steve had been the one to approach him, that Steve had been the one looking for something as more than friends and co-workers. If someone had told him a little over a year ago that he'd be dating the man, he probably would have smiled and found a way to strand them in the middle of New Mexico.

Steve's constantly finding new ways to amaze him, somehow continually setting the bar higher. It's almost impossible to believe that all that goodness can be found in a single man. He picks his pen up again, trying not to smile at the poorly concealed, crestfallen look on the blonde's face.

"I have another hour's worth of paperwork. If you're going to wait, you should make yourself comfortable on the sofa," Phil says, indicating the black leather sofa against the wall.

Steve grins. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Phil says, the corners of his lips twitching upward.

He's not at all bothered that Cale, Clint and Tony have plastered the door to his office with the same picture, clipped from he doesn't know how many magazines. He's not sure who took the shot, but it's not half bad. He remembers the moment exactly. They'd been sitting at a stoplight and Steve had turned to speak to him over his shoulder. Phil had said something about the fact that Steve wasn't wearing a helmet and the man had laughed. And now the moment was preserved and plastered on his office door; his arms wrapped securely around Steve's middle, the laugh still on the taller man's lips, and an abominably fond grin on his own face.

"I tried to tell them not to, but you know, it's not a half-bad shot," Jasper says from behind him, folder tucked under one arm and coffee in the other.

"It's… agreeable," Phil says at length.

"Domesticity suits you, sir," Jasper tells him with a smug grin.

"Don't push it, Sitwell."

"Anything you say, sir."

"I mean it."

"Of course you do, sir."

"Jasper get the hell out of my sight."

Jasper's smiling, though, and Phil finds himself joining him. He supposes that maybe he can wait until after lunch to take the photos down from his door.


	9. Airport

Steve understands why Jane Foster would rather fly commercial than be abducted from a sleepy little New Mexico town by men in black, unmarked SUVs. He also understands that Jane would likely prefer to see a familiar face but that doesn't make him any happier about Phil leaving. He has to argue with the man for twenty minutes before Phil finally relents and allows Steve to carry his lone suitcase.

"You're sure you don't need any of us to go with you?" Steve asks.

"Steve. Please. I'll be gone for a day," Phil answers flatly.

"Yeah, well, the last time you went to New Mexico, you and Sitwell almost got fried by a Destroyer," Steve points out.

Phil offers him a stare that is decidedly not amused. Steve knows he's reaching, but he's a little frustrated—he had plans, several weeks in the making, for that night and gosh darn Nick Fury had to go an ruin it with a surprise assignment. The pettier side of him wonders if the Director had done it on purpose as recompense for any slight Steve may have brought against him.

"You two are going to make me puke rainbows in, like, a second here," Tony says from behind them. "It's bad enough I had to watch you make googly eyes at each other in the back seat of my car."

"You didn't _have_ to watch anything," Steve snorts. "I'm fairly certain you were ogling of your own accord. And besides, you offered to drive."

"You didn't even do that very well," Phil notes. "I counted at least seven moving traffic violations and that was only leaving the garage."

"Wow, rude," Tony huffs. "You're the most ungrateful couple, you know that?"

"I'm flattered," Phil says with a slight grin. "But I do need to leave. They're boarding my flight."

Steve frowns at that, making a small, disappointed noise. Regardless of the night he had planned, however, he knows Phil has a job to do and the sooner he lets him go, the sooner he'll be back. Of course, it never works that way, but he doesn't want to seem clingy. Especially not in front of Tony. The man has enough to tease him about already, that's like offering up ammunition in a gift basket with a bright, red bow.

"Call us when you land then," Steve says.

"Of course," Phil answers simply.

"Later, Agent. We'll be back to pick you and Lady Jane up tomorrow," Tony says, tossing him a mock-salute.

"I appreciate it," Phil says.

He shoots Steve a look that implies they'll be talking later that night. Steve grins back at that, knowing that once they agent is settled, they'll have time to talk. So, he has to bump his plans over to the next day, not a big deal, right? It was only a very small anniversary anyway. Phil probably didn't even realize that it was a year to the day since he'd woken from his coma after being stabbed by Loki. But it could wait.

"Have a safe trip," Steve says and, without thinking, dips his head down to press a kiss to Phil's lips.

It takes about five seconds to kick in and then he's pulling back like he's been burned. Kissing. Public place. No, not good. The look on Phil's face is a carefully controlled calm, but Steve can see the sudden worry in his eyes. Tony, for once, has nothing to say, just stands there and looks between the two of them.

"I'm… going to go now," Phil says at length.

"Right. Yeah. Bye," Steve says woodenly, watching the agent beat a hasty retreat.

People are staring. His palms are starting to sweat. He feels Tony take him by the arm and lead him towards the exit. He doesn't complain or resist, just follows the billionaire's lead.

"Hey, no sweat. I bet nobody even knows you're you," Tony says to him as they exit the airport. "They probably thought you were just some look-alike or… something."

"I fucked up," Steve says, sitting heavily in the passenger's seat of Tony's car.

"Wellllllllllll… maybe just a little bit," Tony says. "But, come on, I mean… how many people even saw it, anyway? You watch, nothing's going to come of this. And if it does? It'll probably be one of those things they just chalk up to the rumor-mill and you won't hear about it again after a day or two. So relax, Capsicle."

Maybe Tony was right. Not many people could have seen them. It was only a quick kiss, after all. How bad could things possibly turn out?


	10. Ancient

Phil is a supernanny in very nearly every sense of the word. So when he returns to Avengers Tower in the early morning hours after finally finishing all the appropriate paperwork following their latest mission, he can't help but smile at the sight that greets him. The Avengers (plus one CEO of Stark Enterprises) are sprawled in various positions on various pieces of furniture in the communal living room. They're all still "suited up", although poor Bruce seems to at least have gotten a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. The only one still awake, it seems, is Pepper. She smiles sleepily at him.

"They wanted to wait up for you," she whispers, "but I told them I'd wake them when you got in."

Phil shakes his head, a fond smile playing on his lips as he runs a hand gently through Steve's hair. The super soldier doesn't wake, but leans into the touch, nuzzling Phil's palm. Tony snuffles quietly and mutters something about blueberries as he readjusts the position of his head in Pepper's lap.

"Let them sleep," Phil whispers back. "You should get some sleep yourself."

"Look who's talking," Pepper counters.

"In a minute," Phil answers quietly.

He's tired, it's true, but his need for order overrides that for the moment. He disappears briefly to gather some supplies and returns to the living room with his arms loaded with blankets. Pepper watches him quietly as he drapes one over each of his charges—taking a little extra time with Steve to press a kiss to his temple—and at last comes to Pepper. For her, he's brought both a pillow and blanket and as he tucks the pillow behind her and drapes the blanket over her shoulders, both of them careful not to wake Tony, she catches his hand and squeezes gently.

"Go to sleep!" is her whispered command.

"Yes, ma'am," he responds under his breath, his tone light and amused.

She swats him gently, playfully, in the arm as he walks past her. He did truly intend to go to sleep, but out of the corner of his eye, he notices something amiss. Thor has moved quite a bit in his sleep it seems, because Mjolnir is resting on the couch that Phil's certain Thor must have been sleeping on at some point which is now ten feet away from where the god is sprawled on the floor clutching Bruce to his side like a teddy bear. He knows the god sleeps much better when he is in direct contact with the hammer and so, without truly considering what he's doing, he walks over to the couch… and picks it up.

It doesn't occur to him straight away that something is amiss. He freezes mid-step when the realization strikes him, a soft noise of surprise escaping him. Its Pepper's startled cry of "Oh my god, Phil!" that wakes the Avengers. Mostly. Tony falls to the floor with a garbled shout of "Attack!" while Clint and Natasha are awake with weapons in their hands almost immediately. He's suddenly not sure what he's doing with the hammer or what he _should_ do with it—so he drops it.

Steve, thankfully, has very quick reflexes and manages to catch the hammer by the handle before it puts a very large dent in the floor.

"What the hell is going—" Steve starts to say before he suddenly realizes what he's holding. It's clear the Captain has acted purely on impulse, because he's now staring with sleepy eyes at the hammer in his hand. "Oh."

Steve looks at Phil, then back to the hammer, then to Thor and each of them in turn. He holds Mjolnir out to a curious looking Thor.

"Thor, I, uh… I think your hammer's broken," Steve says, sounding tired but very sorry all the same.

Phil isn't sure what to think when the god of thunder wordlessly accepts the hammer back and presses it to his ear, nodding as though he's been spoken to.

"No, Mjolnir does not appear to be damaged in any way," Thor corrects him. "What has lead you to make such a claim?"

"Because you're the only one who can pick her up," Clint says. "Trust me, I watched a hundred guys in New Mexico try and it wasn't happening. Even the Hulk can't lift that thing."

"Not so!" Thor says, looking genuinely delighted by something. "My father used very ancient magic upon Mjolnir. The inscription here means, 'Whosoever holds this hammer, if he be worthy, will possess the power of Thor.' So you see, my friends, all that is required to wield Mjolnir is that the intended wielder be worthy of her."

Steve rubs the back of his neck. "…are you sure the magic hasn't, I don't know… worn off or anything?"

Thor frowned. "You think yourselves unworthy?"

Phil's shoulders twitched upward in a shrug. "It's an interesting question. I'm not certain what the basis for 'worthiness' is here, but considering she's your hammer, Thor, I would have to say that if anyone embodies worthiness, it would be you, Steve."

Steve frowned at that. "Well now, hold on here. I'd make the argument that it's you, not me."

Phil offers him that flat stare that means there's no room for argument. But Steve's not about to give in on that front. Thankfully Thor intervenes before they can debate each other's worthiness.

"There is no mistake to be made here. If Mjolnir deems you worthy, then it is so," Thor says simply. He reaches out, looking quite pleased with himself, and takes Steve's left hand and Phil's right, placing them atop one another between his own broad hands. "You, Captain, possess a spirit as pure and valiant as any I have seen. And you, Son of Coul, possess a heart more noble and unwavering than any I have encountered. Is it any great surprise that you are both worthy? The bond between you is stronger than—"

"I'm gonna throw up."

"Wow, rude, Tony," Clint snorts.

"No, I think he's actually going to throw up," Bruce points out.

Tony's makes a mad dash for the nearest trash can—which admittedly looks rather funny while he's still in the suit—with a worried Pepper trailing behind. Steve hears her say something about knowing he ate too much shrimp and how he should have listened to her. Bruce has since wandered off and come back with some sort of medication and appears to be giving Tony a good once over as he and Pepper help the billionaire out of the suit.

"Fuck this, I'm going to bed," Clint says, hands upraised in an 'I'm out' position.

"Thanks for the blankets," Natasha at least has the decency to say as she's walking toward the lift. "Now go to sleep. Or else."

Thor, Steve and Phil are left standing awkwardly in the middle of the living room. Phil politely clears his throat when it becomes obvious that Thor sees nothing wrong with continuing to hold their hands sandwiched between his own. Steve's face is a healthy pink by this point.

"Thor, do you suppose we could have our hands back, please?" Phil requests.

"Ah, yes, of course. On the condition that you never again doubt your worthiness!" Thor booms.

"Sure thing, Thor," Steve is quick to respond.

Phil notes that, although he's gotten his hand back from Thor, he hasn't gotten it back from Steve. He supposes that's all right, though. In parting, Thor lays a hand on their shoulders.

"Truly, I must thank the Allfather for each of my friends and for you both especially," Thor says, his face smiling, but his words serious. "My heart rests easy knowing that, should I fall in battle, Mjolnir might still be taken up by one who will wield her as I would. And I am happy for you, my friends. While it is true Mjolnir has recognized each of you individually, she has also recognized that, together, you are something far greater. Your bond is unusually strong for Midgardians; you must promise me that you will honor it, so long as you both shall live."

Phil feels Steve squeeze his hand and returns the gesture, his thumb gently running over the super soldier's gloved knuckles.

"You have my word," Phil says solemnly.

"And mine," Steve adds.

"Good," Thor says simply, folding his arms across his chest. "And now you must rest, for you both are in dire need of it and I must attend to friend Stark."

Phil's pretty sure Thor is the last thing Tony needs right that second, but he's not about to argue with the god. Instead, he looks up at Steve, who still seems ready to drop back off to sleep at a moment's notice. The blonde casts his bleary gaze down at Phil.

"Did we just get married?" Steve asks, squinting as he contemplates his own question.

"You know… I'm not sure," Phil says slowly.

Hammers and worthiness and ancient magic aside, Phil decided any worry over accidental Asgardian marriages could wait until morning. Sleep sounds like the best idea he's heard all day and Steve makes no argument as they walk towards the lift, still hand-in-hand.


	11. Window

**A/N: This piece also contains Steve/Peggy, just so everyone's aware.**

* * *

"You're sure about this?" Steve asks uncertainly as he looks around the empty floor.

The others are nowhere near them at the moment, but he still feels self-conscious. Many people might be surprised to know that Captain America can't dance. It was at least part of the reason he'd always turned Bucky down whenever he'd found two girls to take dancing; the last thing the scrawny, pre-serum Steve Rogers had needed was to make a fool of himself in front of his best friend and a couple of pretty dames.

"Absolutely. Unless you're not?" Phil answers.

"No, I'm sure, it's just…" Steve says, trailing off. "What if someone catches us?"

Phil tips his head curiously at that. "I don't believe anyone will. We're not doing anything wrong here, Steve."

"No, I know, it's just a little, y'know, embarrassing and all," Steve says, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Plenty of people don't know how to dance."

"Plenty of people aren't Captain America."

"Rogers, are we going to do this or not?"

Steve has to laugh at Phil's cross-armed, no-nonsense pose. "Yeah, of course. Let's get on with the show, huh?"

"JARVIS, do you have that playlist ready to go?" Phil asks.

"Indeed. Shall I play it from the top, Agent Coulson?" asks the disembodied voice.

"Yes, please," Phil answers.

"Very well. Enjoy your lesson, Captain Rogers."

"Thanks, JARVIS," Steve says with a lopsided smile.

His ears perk up as something he knows begins to play. He barks a quick laugh, punching Phil in the arm with a soft, playful jab as the familiar sounds of Glenn Miller's "In the Mood" fill the room.

"Cute, Agent," he comments.

"I thought you might like it," Phil replies with a subtle grin. "Now, let's see about teaching you how to dance, Captain."

Phil is patient and gentle and doesn't get angry, even when Steve steps on his feet (multiple times). It takes a while, but Steve gradually eases into the rhythm set by his partner and the music. It's not quite as difficult as he'd thought it would be, so long as he concentrates on what he's doing. In fact, he's starting to like it. He finds it's almost similar to their moment on the piano, where they're connected by a melody, both moving in time to it.

Phil notices as Steve gradually slows until he's standing still, simply holding the agent. He watches the soldier carefully as Bing Crosby croons "Only Forever" in the background. Steve's eyes are not on him, but instead look out the window. He realizes that the distant gaze and the music mean Steve is looking through a different kind of window all-together. He feels a stab of guilt over his choice in music and failing to consider the impact it might have on the blonde.

"Steve?"

The Man out of Time jerks suddenly, travelling in an instant from 1942 to the present. He looks to Phil with a guilty gaze and such sad eyes that, for one of the few times in his life, Phil can't think of anything to say.

"Sorry. I'm sorry, I was…" Steve says, trying to smile and succeeding for a brief moment only to have it fall of his face. "I'm so sorry."

"You don't have to apologize," Phil says quietly.

"But I do. This is something between you and me and I was… I was thinking about Peggy," Steve tells him, his voice cracking briefly as he says her name.

"It's all right," Phil assures him.

"But it's _not_," Steve retorts, his tone bordering on hysterical. "It's not because I should be focusing on you. And I'm sorr—"

"Don't."

Steve looks shocked when Phil cuts him off sharply, squeezing his hand.

"Don't ever apologize for loving someone," Phil tells him, his tone calm and even, but his stormy blue eyes conveying the depth of meaning behind the words. "We never stop loving people, Steve. I would never expect you to stop loving her just because of me. I don't want you to forget her any more than I want you to forget James Barnes or Doctor Erskine or anyone else you care about. I will never ask you to forget or attempt to replace them in any way and I will never try to be a substitute for her. Keep on loving her."

He wishes he could capture the look on Steve's face right then. The disbelief mingling with pain and hope and longing into an emotion that he's certain no one's quite developed a word for yet. Steve abandons their position as dance partners and simply envelops Phil in his embrace. It's tight—a little too tight—but he senses the desperation in the taller man's action and simply wraps his arms around Steve's waist in return. He hears Vera Lynn's "We'll Meet Again" begin to play and tilts his head up.

"JARVIS, would you please stop th—"

"No."

Phil raises his eyebrows questioningly, but Steve makes no move to let go of him long enough to look each other in the eye.

"Not yet. Just… let's stay like this for a little," Steve says. "If that's okay."

"Of course."

They stand like that until the song plays out and longer still, until JARVIS has run through the playlist. Phil's surprised they haven't been interrupted yet, and is slightly suspicious of this, but he's not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. They end up on the sofa; Phil sitting upright with Steve's head in his lap as the soldier lies sprawled across the couch. He runs his fingers through blonde hair as they talk quietly.

"Tell me about her?" Phil says questioningly, leaving him room to decline if he wishes.

Steve tilts his head back far enough so that he can look the other man in the eye. He reaches up for Phil's hand and moves it until it rests on his chest with one of Steve's larger hands covering it. And then he talks. The words pour out of the super soldier as his eyes grow distant and for a time, if Phil concentrates, he can see to the other side of the window Steve's looking through.

And it's beautiful.


	12. Innocence

Steve knows that, as the leader of the Avengers, he's meant to keep his head in the game at all times. Especially when they're dealing with what appears to be some sort of trans-dimensional magic-using space pig or… whatever Tony had referred to her as. Still, with what happens, he figures it's something he can be granted a pass for.

When he sees a glowing blue beam shoot at him, he's quick to duck behind his shield. The beam deflects and heads towards Thor who, with a mighty yell, swings Mjolnir and also deflects the beam… in Phil's direction. There are a chorus of shouts as Phil, who had until that point been the calm voice in their ears, doesn't have enough time to do much more than look surprised as the beam hits him square in the chest and knocks him flat off his feet.

Steve's running before he even realizes it and reaches the agent in a matter of moments. Panic rises in his throat as shifts the man into his arms; Phil is clutching at his chest and shaking, doing his best to suppress any verbal representation of his agony. He curls in on himself, small noises of distress edging past his lips despite his best efforts. But Steve doesn't see any wound. In fact, if the man weren't showing such obvious signs of pain, he might have thought the beam had missed him all together.

"What is it? Phil, come on, talk to me," Steve implores. "Help me figure out what's wrong with you."

He gets his answer very suddenly. In the space of time it takes him to blink, he goes from holding a man writhing in pain to an unconscious boy. Steve stares in confusion for a minute before calling over his shoulder.

"Doc!"

* * *

Not only does their quarry escape, but they're left with quite a quandary on their hands. Blood tests reveal that the boy is indeed Phil Coulson and Steve is by his side through every minute of it, except when they kick him out. He takes the opportunity to change out of his uniform before resuming his vigil, waiting until he'll be allowed to see Phil again. He looks to be about five or six, though they can't be certain. They're running every test known to man in order to figure out how to reverse the apparent de-aging spell that's been placed on one of their best agents. Tony and Bruce are hard at work trying to aid the scientists of S.H.I.E.L.D. in finding an answer.

Steve isn't surprised when Pepper enters the room and pulls up a chair beside him. He offers her a grin when she hands him a coffee and a sandwich, caring as always—it's easy to see why she and Phil get along when they're both so similar in that regard.

"He still hasn't woken up yet?" she asks.

"No, not just yet. But soon, they think," he answers, sipping the coffee.

It's only about five minutes later when Phil _does_ wake up. The small, pale boy with a mop of brown hair and blue-grey eyes simply stares at them before looking around the room, apparently taking everything in before choosing to speak. Maybe he's just nervous, Steve thinks.

"Am I in a hospital?" Phil asks.

"Yeah, you're in a hospital," Pepper answers. "You had a bit of an accident. What's the last thing you remember?"

Phil frowns. "I was just leaving school, ma'am. I was on my way home and some of the seventh graders were picking on one of the third graders, so I tried to help. But I guess I didn't cover my back so well because Davy McGinley hit me in the back of the head with something… and that's the last thing I remember."

The young boy frowns as he reaches to feel the back of his own head and looks surprised when there's no lump.

"That was very brave of you," Steve says. "Would you mind telling us your name and age? When we found you, we weren't sure."

"My name's Phil Coulson, sir. I'm ten years old," Phil answers smartly.

Steve and Pepper share a look. He's at least four years older than what they'd guessed, but he's so—

"I know, I'm small for my age. My brother says I'll grow more… probably," Phil says quickly, twin spots of color rising to his cheeks. "Can I ask what your names are?"

"I'm Steve Rogers and this is Pepper Potts," Steve says in reply.

He can see something click for Phil at the mention of his name. The boy's face goes several shades redder and his eyes dart around the room, apparently desperate to focus on anything that isn't Steve. Even out of uniform, he's almost certain Phil knows—or is at least suspicious of—who he is.

The color in his face quickly disappears when he catches sight of something in the corner. Pepper turns to look, trying to figure out what it is. Steve keeps his eyes on Phil, frowning when he notices tension radiating from the boy's frame. Outwardly, he still appears somewhat calm, but in his eyes there is stark, blind panic. It makes Steve a little sad to see. Had Phil always been such a serious boy?

"Is that the time?" Phil asks.

"Yeah, that's the right time," Pepper responds. Her face looks as concerned as Steve feels. "Why?"

"I need to go home now," Phil answers.

"Well, in a bit. We need to make sure you're okay first," Pepper tells him.

"I'm fine. I really have to go home now, ma'am. I have a curfew. My grandfather will be very upset," Phil explains quickly.

"I'm sure he won't be once he knows what happened to you. It's not your fault you're late," Pepper reasons.

"It's no excuse, ma'am. I have a curfew. I broke it. I have to go home," Phil tries again.

"Phil… do you _want_ to go home?" Pepper asks, the look in her eyes unreadable.

"Yes." Phil's answer is delayed, but delivered with almost enough conviction to be believable. Almost.

Steve decides to try a different tactic. He motions for Phil to wait a moment as he and Pepper rise and walk over to the door. They speak in hushed tones, watching the boy sitting patiently in the bed. Pepper's eyes are beyond sad; she looks devastated.

"Steve, the way he's talking…"

"I know. I know, I'm… I know," Steve says, fumbling his words distractedly. "We can't be sure, though. Which is why I need you to do me a favor."

"Sure. Whatever I can," she answers readily.

"I need you to talk to Fury for me. Phil's file is one of those classified deals; at a certain point in his record, you need a security clearance higher than God's to access it," Steve says. "Ask Fury for clearance on it. If there's anything in it that can help us take care of Phil as he is now, we need to know about it. Even if he only lets you see it, that's fine so long as one of us is in the know. I figure if anyone can sweet talk him into agreeing, that's gotta be you. Because I know if you can't sweet talk him, you'll find some way to make him say yes."

Pepper laughs at that. "I think you're greatly overestimating my talents."

"Show me someone who can say no to you when you put your mind to it and I'll change my mind on it," Steve answers.

Pepper just shakes her head, looking vaguely amused. "I'll do my best. But I can't promise anything. Nick's a tough nut to crack."

"_Nick_?" Steve blurts, looking borderline horrified.

"You'd be surprised at the kind of people you get to know being the CEO of Stark Enterprises," Pepper informs him. She looks over at Phil, still sitting up ramrod straight in the bed as he looks down at his hands folded neatly in his lap. "I'm sure I don't have to say it, but take care of him. All right?"

Steve nods at that. "Good luck."

"Same to you," she says. "I'll check in with Tony on my way back to see if they've made any progress."

Steve stands at the door, watching her leave, and then resumes his seat by Phil's bed. He watches the boy for a moment. Phil stays as he is, head bowed, sitting quietly and staring at his hands. He leans forward, speaking gently.

"Phil? If you don't mind, I'd like to talk to you about why you're here."

* * *

All things considered, Phil is rather amenable to the idea that it's not 1975 and instead quite a few years later than that. At first the boy is skeptical, demanding that Steve produce evidence. Steve does so, bringing newspapers, calendars, and anything else dated that he can manage. Still, the boy is not quite convinced. That's when Steve decides to take a gamble.

"Okay, I need you to trust me on this, so… what if I told you I was Captain America?" Steve asks.

"I'm young, sir, not stupid. I understand the two often go hand-in-hand but please don't confuse them," Phil says in a deadpan. "Captain America went down in an aircraft in the Antarctic in 1942 and the wreckage was never recovered. I would know."

Steve nearly chokes trying to suppress his laughter. That's Phil, all right.

"Well, what if I told you it _was_ recovered? That I was found? And that you were one of the people who found me?" Steve tries with a smile.

That catches Phil's attention. "…what do you mean?"

"I'm saying that you found me, in the ice. You weren't there when I woke up, but I'm told you watched me while I was sleeping," Steve says. "I know all about you. We've fought together and worked together for a good while now."

"The older me?" Phil says questioningly. "The one that should exist now?"

"Yes. You know, you grow up to be a good man," Steve says fondly. "A great man."

Phil's eyes still hold some slight disbelief. So Steve invites him to ask any questions he wants until he satisfied that he's gotten the truth. It's oddly endearing how the young Phil Coulson gives him a pop quiz on his own life and he answers every question accordingly. It takes about an hour before Phil finally believes him. When he does, he's looking heartily embarrassed.

"You really are Captain America, aren't you?" Phil asks. His voice is full of quiet wonder, his eyes brimming with open adoration.

"Yeah, I am," Steve assures him.

"I'm sorry I doubted you, sir," Phil says earnestly.

"You know, Phil, you can just call me 'Steve,'" he says with a chuckle. "You usually do."

"Steve," Phil murmurs experimentally. "You said we work together?"

"We do. We have a group of sorts," Steve answers. "We were on an assignment when you were de-aged."

Phil nods in understanding. "If we work together… does that mean I help people?"

The question takes him a moment to answer. He can't tell this kid all of what he wants to say; that the Phil he knows does more than that. That he's gone above and beyond the call of duty in more ways than Steve can count. He can't tell him that he could spend all day talking about the thing Phil's done for good. He can't say those things because he knows he wouldn't be able to stop there. He can't burden a young boy with the exact nature of their relationship, so he keeps it simple.

"Yeah," Steve says quietly, reaching out and laying a hand on the boy's head. "You help a lot of people."

He's silently amazed by the broad, bright grin that settles on the boy's face. It's honest… and happy. It's such a change from the serious little boy he's seen Phil to be and it reminds him that, regardless of that fact, he's just that: a little boy.

"Good. That's what I want to do."

* * *

The next few days are equal parts amusing and frustrating. Fury was unwilling to relinquish Phil's entire file to Pepper, but he told her a few things that she needed to know and caved just enough to hand her Phil's school records.

"This isn't an attempt to hinder you," Fury had told Steve when he'd asked. "This is an attempt to preserve the man's dignity."

Steve thinks that necessity overrides dignity at the moment, but as Fury's known Phil longer than any of them, he can't argue. It doesn't help anyway. From Pepper, Steve learns a few things: that Phil's father had left when he was very young, that his mother had died when he was eight, that he and his older brother Andrew had been taken in by their WWII-veteran grandfather. He learns very quickly that Phil is just fine with not talking about himself or his home life. When asked any questions, Phil will either somehow change the subject or simply clam up and stare with those too-big blue-grey eyes of his until they give up and move on. While that worries Steve, there's no need to press him about it. They'll have Phil back to normal soon.

Steve learns a lot of things about Phil as a child. Phil is small for his age, but smart. Much smarter than his classmates. While Phil is very successful academically, with straight A's across the board, his behavior is another thing, apparently. If Natasha wants to see a red ledger, all she has to do is take a peek at Phil's disciplinary record.

"I don't like bullies," Phil says simply, when Steve asks.

He learns more things about Phil, tiny things. He enjoys puzzles and people watching and comic books and playing the piano. He likes his eggs over easy and does not like cucumbers. He bonds well with Agent Cale, who is also a Boston Native. They talk a lot about sports and history, which Phil seems very fond of. Steve nearly chokes on his coffee at the stricken look on the boy's face when Cale tells him the Boston Bruins don't win another Stanley Cup for thirty-nine years. Steve makes a mental note to take him to a hockey game at some point in the future.

* * *

"We've got it!" Tony announces proudly, holding a vial of some opaque blue liquid.

"The donuts? Great, I'm starving," Clint says, not looking up from the videogame he's playing with Phil.

"No, not donuts. We found out how to reverse the spell put on Phil," Bruce replies with a tired smile.

That grabs Clint's—and everyone else's—attention. Steve stares dubiously at the vial Tony is shaking in front of his face

"He was hit by a magic spell, are you sure that's going to work?" Steve asks.

"Magic can suck my dick, okay? Science always triumphs," Tony crows as he high-fives Bruce.

"We wouldn't bring it anywhere near Phil if we weren't sure it was going to work. You know that, right?" Bruce tries instead.

"Yeah, I… guess you're right," Steve admits. "Sorry."

"That's supposed to make me older again?" Phil pipes up, arms crossed as he studied the vial.

"You bet, squirt. You'll be back to nagging us about incident reports and proper sleeping habits in no time," Tony informs him.

"He does that _now_," Clint points out.

"Because you don't submit them on time and your handwriting is atrocious, Agent Barton," Phil quips.

"We could have bought him a tiny suit and there would be no difference," Clint says.

"You're just mad because a ten year-old called your handwriting 'atrocious,'" Natasha smirks.

"Can we focus? Please?" Pepper says, calling order to the room. She looks to Tony and Bruce once she has it. "Alright, so what do we need to do?"

"Nothing. Kiddo here just has to knock this back and wait for the kick," Tony announces.

"Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrm," Clint mouths.

"Ooh, good one, yes. JARVIS, set a reminder: Next week's movie night, we're watching Inception," Tony says.

"Trivialities like your Midgardian films can wait. Return our Son of Coul to his proper form!" Thor interrupts, lifting a very surprised Phil from the ground for emphasis.

"Whoa, okay there Rafiki, careful with our Junior G Man," Tony says, holding his hands up until Thor returns Phil to the ground. "Make or break time! Phil, I need you to drink this. It's going to taste like donkey piss, but it'll cure what ails ya."

Phil looks questioningly at the vial placed in his hand. Bruce steps forward, leans down and whispers something in his ear. Phil looks over to Tony, who pointedly looks away, before whispering something back to Bruce. Bruce nods, gives him what looks like some sort of words of approval, and backs off. Phil's expression is determined when he swallows the liquid in one gulp after getting encouraging nods from Steve and Pepper. He makes a face, obviously trying his best not to sputter, and hands the vial back to Tony. Minutes tick by.

"He remains even tinier," Thor says in a stage whisper.

"Even tinier?" Bruce echoes in confusion.

"Yes. Our Son of Coul has always been tiny to me. He is merely tinier in this child form," Thor explains sagely.

"Right," Bruce answers slowly. "Well… we did think that the process might be time delayed. Ingestion was the best way to get it into his system, but… it might take a while yet. Let's get him to medical for observation. We can keep a better eye on him there. Is that okay, Phil?"

Phil nods. Bruce is gentle with his questioning and never touches him—even for something as simple as checking his pulse—without Phil's express permission. Steve takes his hand and the group makes their way towards medical.

"Steve?" Phil asks, looking up.

"Yeah?" Steve responds, looking down.

Phil watches him carefully as they walk. Steve waits for the other end of the question, but it never comes. Phil just shakes his head.

"Sorry. Nevermind."

* * *

Tony's the one who suggests that Phil strip down and sit naked beneath the hospital sheets so he "doesn't try to one-up the Other Guy" when he regains his adult form. Both he and Bruce are in and out of the room, checking vitals and monitoring his progress, but Steve is the only one Phil allows to stay in the room. They're all more than willing to give him his privacy.

It's another three hours before anything happens. It starts with Phil trembling, just slightly. As the minutes wear on, the boy's face grows pale and pinched and Steve can see that he's sweating.

"Phil? Are you okay?" he questions, rising from his seat.

Phil shakes his head before rolling onto his side, facing away from Steve, and curling into a small, shivering ball beneath the sheet.

"Tell me what's wrong," Steve says.

"Chest hurts," Phil squeaks.

Phil is gasping like a fish by the time Tony and Bruce have been summoned. Bruce is quick about his actions, checking vitals and kneeling by the edge of the bed to speak softly to the boy.

"Tony is this supposed to happen?" Steve asks worriedly.

"It was a possibility," Tony says, lines of tension forming around his mouth and eyes. "We couldn't be sure if it would be quick or… take longer. Fuck, it was a three percent chance. A _three percent chance_, why does he always have to be full of so many goddamn surprises?"

"Longer? Tony, how much longer is it going to take? He's in pain," Steve demands.

"We don't know," Tony answers. "We've estimated anywhere between twenty minutes and two hours."

"Two—…? Jesus Christ," Steve breathes.

"Steve. Come here," Bruce summons, beckoning him over with a waved hand. He keeps his eyes trained on Phil as Steve joins them. "Phil, we're going to be right here, okay? Remember what we talked about; it'll hurt, but you'll be okay. Just squeeze Steve's hand when it hurts, whenever you need to."

Phil manages a nod, tears welling up in his eyes as he attempts to keep silent. Steve reaches without needing to be asked, taking hold of his hand. His eyes dart to Bruce.

"Why didn't either of you say anything about this? Tony says there was a three percent chance of this happening," Steve asks. "Why didn't we know about it?"

"Phil knew about it."

"What?"

"I told him about the risks involved, he elected not to share those risks with any of you and I respected that."

Steve wants to groan in frustration, but is careful to make sure he doesn't. He doesn't need to ask. He knows why Phil did it: because he didn't want them to worry. Because working quietly behind people's backs is apparently not something he learned from S.H.I.E.L.D. but a skill acquired much earlier.

The whole process is sort of like watching Bruce transform into the Hulk but in slow motion. And not quite so radical. It's an hour and thirty five minutes of agony, of barely smothered screams and groans, of sweat and tears (which Steve knows he despises). He vomits twice, when the pain reaches a level most people shouldn't be conscious for. Impossibly, Phil's awake through most of it. His eyes roll back in his head and he passes out on three separate occasions, and each time Steve finds himself praying Phil would just stay there until it's over. But each time, he resurfaces, coming back for more of the same. It's Tony who says they can't give him any form of sedative or relaxant, nothing to ease the pain; they don't know how it will react with their antidote, given their unfortunate three percent.

By the end of it, Steve swears his heart is about to jump out of his chest. It's their Phil in the bed, though; worry lines, receding hairline, scar and all. Steve only pulls away when the nurses essentially kick him out of the room. He joins Tony and Bruce in the hallway. He has a few questions.

"Is he going to be him when he wakes up, though? I mean… did you… turn his mind back, too?" Steve questions. He doesn't know anything about this sort of thing, but knowing Tony and Bruce, they've left no stone unturned.

"Ah, yeah, that. He is, definitely, but we… had a little help on that part," Bruce admits, rubbing his hands together.

"Shut up. Don't tell him," Tony says quickly.

"Tell me what?" Steve asks, his voice sharp with suspicion.

"We had help," Bruce tells him, "from Loki."

There's an awkward silence in the hall before Steve loses it.

"Are you two out of your _minds_?" Steve hollers. "Tony, I understand, but _you_, Bruce?"

"It was a calculated risk," Bruce replies.

"Calculated? _Calculated_? He stabbed Phil in the back, Bruce. He killed him. That's not calculated, that's practically a death sentence. That's an open invitation to finish the job," Steve rants.

"And does he look dead to you?" Tony butts in.

"He looked pretty damn close," Steve bites back.

"But he's not. And he'll be fine in a day or two. Listen, Thor wrote home about our little problem and Odin was nice enough to send along the Asgardian best suited for the job," Tony explains. "That happened to be Loki. Trust me, we didn't want to trust him anymore than you, but it was either that or Phil would have to stay as he was."

Steve's not happy. He barrages the two with questions until the nurses are allowing them re-entry and only once he's seen that Phil appears to be sleeping soundly does he relent. He understands their reasoning, but he doesn't have to be happy about it.

Tony and Bruce decide they're fine with that. So long as he's done screaming about ethics.

* * *

In the end, Tony loses the rock-paper-scissors match for the remaining chair in the room, but that doesn't stop him from deciding he can sit in Bruce's lap all the same. The two are sprawled in a mess of limbs, sound asleep in the chair when Phil wakes up. Steve leans forward eagerly, watching him wake.

"Hey," he says softly, not wanting to startle the agent.

Phil's eyes find his. He looks thoroughly worn out, but offers a slight smile regardless. "We have to stop meeting like this," Phil says groggily.

"That's all on you, buddy, not me," Steve says with a grin, gesturing to the bed. His expression grows more serious. "How do you feel?"

Phil stretches somewhat, groans and rubs a hand over his face. "Old."

Steve's laugh comes out as a snort. He shakes his head, reaching out to take one of the agent's hands in his. "And your memory?"

"Unaffected. I seem to be all me," Phil answers. "The de-aging is a bit fuzzy, but my primary memories are intact."

Phil looks like he wants to say something else, so Steve waits.

"Steve, whatever you may have learned about my childhood—"

"If you don't want to talk about it, you don't have to. It's not my place or anyone else's to make you," Steve answers readily. "If you don't want me to mention it again, I won't."

"I would prefer it."

"Then it won't be brought up again."

They fall into an easy silence, with Steve watching Phil gradually begin to drift off to sleep again. He can't help himself, really. He has to say it. He smiles.

"You were a damn cute kid, though."

"Steve."

"With that big, innocent smile of yours…"

"I'm going back to sleep now. Please stop talking."

Steve grins as Phil's true to his word, dropping off again in seconds flat. Steve doesn't move from his seat as Phil's breathing deepens and evens out. If he looks, very carefully, he can see echoes of the boy that became the man. He squeezes the hand in his, content in the knowledge that Phil will still be his Phil when he wakes, and allows himself some rest at last.


	13. Imagination

Steve is never going to ask Phil to do anything he's uncomfortable with. He's a gentleman every step of the way. He respects the agent's boundaries. Phil isn't averse to touch, or to intimacy, it's simply the manner in which they're intimate. He knows that they are not a typical couple; when he hears people discussing their sex lives in such unabashed detail (in public, no less) he finds he's unable to relate. He can't lie to himself and say sex is something he's not interested in, but if he has to choose between having sex and having Phil, he'll choose Phil every time.

Instead Steve imagines.

It's always in the shower, when Phil isn't around. He takes himself in hand and lets his mind do the rest. He wonders what Phil would look like, would sound like, if Steve touched him like this. He pictures Phil aroused, wanting, eager. He spills himself against the tiles, grunting in his completion. He watches the water wash away the evidence of his guilt, feeling nothing but shame pooling in his stomach as the high wears off.

Steve often wonders if Phil suspects, especially when he exits the shower and is unable to meet the agent's eyes. But if the shorter man knows anything, he keeps it to himself. Steve's grateful for that much; he doesn't know if he could bear having to come clean about the subject of his masturbatory fantasies.

It's a quiet Tuesday night when this changes.

They're in the living room on Steve's floor of Avenger's Tower. Steve is sprawled across the couch, toweling his wet hair and idly flipping through TV stations as he waits for Phil. The agent emerges, clad in pajama pants, a t-shirt and cozy looking cardigan, with a thick folder tucked under one arm. But there's one thing that's definitely different, something he hasn't seen before: Phil is wearing glasses.

Steve can't stop staring. The agent definitely notices and, understanding the reason, reaches up to readjust them on the bridge of his nose as he sits on the couch.

"Farsighted. I usually wear contacts," Phil explains. "I have some files to review before tomorrow's meeting. Is that all right with you?"

Steve grins, wrapping an arm around the shorter man's waist and pulling him to the sofa. "More than. You know, glasses are a very good look for you."

Phil chuckles as he's tugged until he's nestled against the super soldier. "Maybe I should wear them more often, then."

"Maybe you should," Steve hummed, leaning in to press his lips against the agent's.

He feels Phil's smile against his lips. Without looking, he removes the folder from the shorter man's grasp and gently places it aside. In hindsight, he should have seen it coming. Steve pushes forward, laying Phil along the length of the sofa, running his hands down the man's sides. Phil is reaching up, running his hands through Steve's hair, his lips parting welcomingly to Steve's insistent tongue. Steve doesn't realize until it's too late that he's a little more wound up than he thought he was. He pulls away from Phil's lips suddenly, guilt twisting in his gut like a knife.

"I'm… I'll be right back, I—"

It's in that second that Phil moves, his eyes concerned. The agent's leg shifts and suddenly Steve's erection is pressing against the man's thigh. A moan escapes him before he can stop himself and, in a panic, he's moving as far away from Phil as possible, his face beet red with embarrassment.

"I'm sorry, Phil," he says quickly, starting to rise from the sofa. "I really am, I'll… sorry, I'll just leave you alone."

"Steve, stop. Come back here," Phil says, catching the soldier by the wrist. He tugs. "Sit."

Steve does so, his expression miserable as he crosses his legs. He feels Phil's hand on his shoulder, rubbing comfortingly.

"You're ashamed because you're aroused," Phil states, matter-of-factly.

Steve's face turns, if possible, even redder. He hears Phil sigh and knows this is it. He's probably offended the man beyond reason.

"Steve, look at me. Honestly, look at me."

Steve drags his eyes to meet the agent's. He's surprised when he sees nothing but concern there.

"Do you think you offended me?" Phil asks.

"Well… yeah. I know you don't want to have sex and I want to respect that," Steve answers. He hasn't felt this small since before the serum. It's mortifying.

Phil shakes his head. "You're unbelievable."

"I know and I'm sorry."

Phil laughs. "No, Steve, I mean you're really unbelievable. I'm not offended. I want you to understand that. Just because I don't experience arousal in these situations doesn't mean you should feel ashamed because you do."

"But—"

"No. No buts. You've been beyond patient and understanding with me, in a way that no one else has. Do you suppose I would be any less with you?" Phil asks him. "It's a natural response for you. Don't feel ashamed just because of me."

Steve frowns. "It's okay?"

"Of course it is. You don't have to hide from me."

Steve nods slowly.

"I think about you when I masturbate."

Steve decides he really needs to learn not to just blurt things out when he's embarrassed. It's unhealthy. Luckily for him, Phil just smiles. Likely because Phil's been known to blurt an embarrassing thing or two himself. Like watching people while they sleep.

"That's okay. Although, judging by your face, I bet you weren't intending to tell me that."

"No. I sort of planned to keep that a secret. Forever."

"Well, I'm glad you told me. And I'm glad I can… help," Phil says, thoughtfully.

He frowns a bit, seeming unsure of himself for a moment. Steve shifts in his seat uncomfortably; he's still painfully hard, the embarrassing conversation having done nothing to deter his arousal. Phil's hand on his thigh makes him jump, his cock twitching from the proximity.

"You can refuse, of course, but if it's all right… I'd like to help," Phil tells him.

Steve's not sure what he's being told. "I'm not sure what you… uh… ?"

"I'm asking if you'd like me to help you get off," Phil explains.

"But I thought…"

"I'm not interested in sex or reciprocation, but that doesn't mean I'm willing to leave you high and dry," Phil explains. "I have no problem with supplying the use of my hands. Or my mouth, on occasion."

"_Jesus_ Phil, I—"

"Is that a yes?"

"I don't… Look, I don't want you to feel like you have to do this."

"And I don't. I'm asking you what you want, what you're comfortable letting me do," Phil answers calmly. "I've dated in the past, Steve, and this isn't something I do for just anyone. You've shown me nothing but respect and I know I can trust you not to take anything further. I trust you and because of that, I want to do this. Do you want me to?"

Steve's heart is hammering in his chest. "Yes."

Phil plies his lips with a soft kiss before he rises from the sofa and disappears from the room. Steve is confused until the agent returns with supplies: a bottle of lotion and a box of tissues. The super soldier suppresses a groan. He can't believe this is happening. All of a sudden he's lying along the length of the couch and Phil is kneeling between his legs, working patiently at the drawstring on Steve's pajama bottoms. Steve reaches out suddenly, grasping one of Phil's wrists.

"Phil, are you absolutely positive?" Steve asks. "I don't want to lose you because I'm…"

"Not like me?" Phil says, finishing the blonde's thought for him. "I told you in the beginning that relationships between people like you and I are difficult. I've had people tell me they were fine with who I am and that they didn't care that it meant the physical portion of our relationship would be limited. That never lasted long. You're the first to stay. I'll admit that I don't know if this will last between us, but no one has ever treated me as well as you have. So long as you're willing to stay, you're not losing me."

Steve's chest feels tight at the words. He props himself on one elbow, his other hand curling around the back of Phil's head, dragging the agent forward and crushing their lips together. Their noses bump together, knocking the agent's glasses askew. He kisses the shorter man with as much fervor and sincerity as possible. He feels his pants and boxers being edged down past his hips and gasps as his erection is freed before Phil grips him tightly.

He can feel that the agent's hand is slicked with the lotion as he's stroked from base to tip, his legs spreading a fraction wider as he begins to pant. He struggles to keep himself flat, but his hips buck upward on occasion.

"It's all right. Don't hold back," Phil breaths against his lips.

At this point, Steve doesn't try to argue. He thrusts upward into Phil's hand, moans spilling past his lips and into the agent's mouth. For someone who has no interest in sex, Phil is very talented with his hands. It's overwhelming, the feeling of this man working him steadily, confidently. It's better than anything he's imagined in his shameful shower exploits. The fact that it's consensual, that Phil _wants_ to do this for him, is something wondrous and humbling all at once.

He doesn't last much longer. After a particularly nice upward twist of Phil's wrist, he's coming with a hoarse cry. His hips jerk as he rides out his orgasm, and Phil strokes him to completion, catching his ejaculate in a handful of tissues.

Steve is still catching his breath as Phil cleans him up and tucks him back in his pants. When he sees Phil sitting back on his haunches, Steve raises himself up slightly, holding his arms out to the other man.

"Come here. Please?" he asks.

Phil complies with a soft smile and allows himself to be pulled forward until he's lying on top of the super soldier's broad chest. He props his chin on his own folded arms, watching Steve carefully.

"Was that okay?"

"More than. Thank you," Steve replies, feeling the echo of their earlier conversation in his words.

He rubs a large hand across the shorter man's back. For the next quarter of an hour, he's content holding the agent close. It's true that Phil doesn't react to any sort of stimulation like Steve does, evidenced in part by the fact that the man is now reviewing the file he'd promised he would and more by the fact that at no point did he show even the slightest hint of arousal. Phil had explained once that some people found this offensive; Steve is more worried about reciprocation… but Phil had already expressed his disinterest in that.

"I don't know how anyone could leave you," Steve says after a time.

"It's understandable," Phil says, readjusting his glasses as he scans the report in his hand. "I can't begrudge anyone for it; I wouldn't want to ask them to change any more than I would want to be asked to change."

"I understand," Steve says. "And… I know they're only words right now, but even though you said you trust me, I want you to be able to believe me, too. I want you to believe me when I tell you that, to me, you're perfect as you are and that I'm not leaving. You don't have to believe it now, but I'm going to do everything I can to make sure you do someday."

Phil's eyes leave the report to focus on Steve. Once again the super soldier is reminded of the man's quiet intensity and of the things he never says, but doesn't really need to. His eyes say it all.

"I meant it when I said you were unbelievable," Phil says with a subtle grin.

"I gave Thor my word," Steve replies. "And I never go back on my word."

"You don't, do you?" Phil murmurs wistfully.

"Never."

Phil chuckles, holding Steve's gaze just a moment longer before he looks back to the report in his hand. The agent may not completely believe him yet when he says he's not leaving, but Steve could see in his eyes, could tell from the brief hopeful glimmer, that they might get there yet. And for Phil, Steve was willing to wait as long as it took.


	14. Kingdom

Asgard is even grander than Phil imagined.

When Thor had brought his father's invitation to them, he had been so full of joy that Phil had been halfway certain the god might combust on the spot. Of course, Fury was very quick to graciously accept; while he himself could not leave Earth unguarded—which Odin was very understanding of—he was happy to send Phil and The Avengers in his stead.

The banquet had been marvelous. Odin and Frigga were splendid hosts. Phil recognized Lady Sif and The Warriors Three and greeted them with a degree more familiarity than the rest of the team, who went through a round of introductions. The discussion was lively and joyous, although Steve may have laughed a little too hard when Fandral tugged on his goatee while looking to Phil and commented on Midgard's strange way of "producing such mighty warriors in such tiny packages."

Things had taken a turn for the interesting when Odin chose to engage Steve in conversation about his role as Captain of the Americas and how he'd chosen a "fine mate" with which to rule them. Then it had been Tony's turn to laugh and Steve's turn to blush as he tried to explain that he didn't actually _rule_ America.

Now, though, Phil wanders the seemingly endless halls of the palace with Steve beside him. Their discussion is quiet, their fingers intertwined as they hold hands.

"Hard to believe that this'll all be Thor's someday," Steve hums, his eyes wandering from the floor to the ceiling and everywhere in-between.

"It is, isn't it?" Phil agrees. "When he's with us, it's easy to forget that he's a prince."

"You said he changed a lot, though," Steve says.

"Not a lot, exactly, but he did change in the short space of time he was first on Earth," Phil responds. "People like Jane Foster and Doctor Selvig and even Darcy Lewis—perhaps especially Darcy Lewis—changed him."

Steve nods. "I think he'll make a great ruler someday. I can't quite picture The Avengers without him, though."

Phil chuckles. "I have a feeling we'll all be long gone before that happens."

It gets Phil wondering, though. This whole trip does. While Steve is busy taking in the scenery, Phil is busy thinking. Thor will outlive them all, there's no question of that, but how long will he be around to call himself an Avenger? Midgard would always be under the god's protection, even when he assumed the throne, of that Phil is certain. Thor loves Earth and all its inhabitants; he won't abandon them for anything.

What of the Avengers in general? Their ages aside, it's a dangerous profession. Long life isn't exactly in the job description. Assuming Steve doesn't kill himself doing something stupid and heroic, as he is wont to do, he'll live a lot longer than the rest of them. It isn't the first time Phil's contemplated the matter. He wonders if Steve has given it much thought.

Suddenly, Steve has halted in his tracks, his grip on Phil's hand growing vice-like. Phil is surprised when the blonde pulls him close, his whole body radiating tension. And then the agent sees why.

Standing thirty feet away, bound in shackles, is Loki. The god's mouth is muzzled much like it was when he was taken away by Thor following the Chitauri attack; Phil's read the reports. Raising his hands in a gesture that looks more like a shrug, Loki rolls his eyes at Steve's actions.

"Is this the punishment Asgard saw fit to deal to you?" Steve growls.

Loki tips his head in a nod.

"Not punishment enough, in my opinion," Steve says, his jaw set.

"For anyone else, perhaps not. But for a Liesmith, I imagine it's quite terrible," Phil says.

Loki makes a small, dismissive motion with his hand and turns to leave.

"Dr. Banner and Mr. Stark say you aided them in finding a way to reverse the spell placed on me," Phil calls out.

That stops Loki. He looks back curiously at them. Phil can feel Steve's eyes on him, asking him what he thinks he's doing. Phil knows very well what he's doing. He motions to the table at the nearby balcony.

"Would you sit with us?"

Steve hurriedly steers him away, shielding him from Loki's eyes with his large frame as he lays hands on the agent's shoulders. Phil can see Steve is confused—angry, confused and deeply concerned.

"Are you out of your mind?" Steve hisses. "I don't want him anywhere near you!"

"I'd like to speak with him," Phil counters.

"For heaven's sake, _why_?" Steve demands.

"We had a brief conversation that day on the Helicarrier. I was… a bit rude and cut him off. I'd like to be able to finish that conversation," Phil says.

Steve doesn't look convinced. Phil switches tactics. He reaches up and grasps the man's forearms, feels the muscles twitch beneath his fingers as their eyes lock. He knows it's difficult for Steve to do this, to trust him. He knows, as much as the Captain might protest it, that Steve is afraid. Phil is afraid, too. But not enough to back down.

"I need you to trust me," Phil says insistently.

"I can't. Not this time. Not with him," Steve answers, looking pained.

"Steve. Trust me," Phil says, squeezing the man's forearms. "I just need a few minutes and he won't be able to do anything with you watching, all right?"

"What he did to you—"

"He can't do it again. Look at him."

Steve looks guilty. "…I don't know if I can trust _myself_ not to do anything to _him_."

"I trust you," Phil says outright.

Steve sighs, his shoulder slumping in defeat. "Okay. But if I even think he might pull anything, I'm taking you and leaving, no questions asked."

"Deal," Phil replies.

Loki is still lingering, watching them with a raised eyebrow. He slowly follows as Phil gestures to the table. Phil sits with Steve on one side and Loki sits on the other side. He places an ancient looking tome on the table and opens it. Steve tenses beside him until they see that the pages are blank. Loki brushes long, graceful fingers across the page. Words form in their wake, appearing in a curling, elegant script.

_What do you wish to speak of, Son of Coul?_

Phil regards the book thoughtfully before looking back to Loki.

"This is how you have to communicate?" he asks.

_These shackles suppress my magic; including my shapeshifting abilities. As you said, I am a talented Liesmith. Allowing me to speak would be beyond foolish. Even affording me this simple means of communication is foolish, although I am not one to question them if they choose to be so._

"I see," Phil hums. "Well, I'd like to thank you for your part in reversing that spell. I can tell you it's very much appreciated."

Loki studies him carefully. Phil can see the god look between him and Steve carefully before he passes a hand over the page again.

_You are a curious mortal, Son of Coul._

"He certainly is," Steve says with a sigh and a shake of his head.

_You disapprove of this meeting, Captain?_

"I don't think 'disapprove' really even begins to cover it," Steve says flatly.

_Then you're a wiser man than your counterpart._

Phil sees Steve bristle at the comment from the corner of his eye and slides a hand across the marble bench until his fingers encounter the Captain's clenched fist. He covers it with his hand, squeezing gently, reassuringly, until the man calms himself to lay his hand flat. He feels Steve's hand turn palm up until it's holding his, squeezing right back. He looks to Loki.

"I can't exactly argue with that," Phil proclaims. He regards the god thoughtfully. "Sometimes I find myself wishing we could have talked a bit more. Although I did only have a limited window of time to begin with."

_You said I lacked conviction._

"I stand by that," Phil answers.

_What made you so certain? What made you believe that a group of bickering children could possess any more conviction than I did?_

"Because they say the best way to fight fire is with fire. So I sent children to deal with a child," Phil says calmly. He presses on before Loki has the chance to counter. "When speaking with Thor, I thought that your attack on Earth was motivated by revenge. Then I thought it was motivated by jealousy. And then I didn't know what you were motivated by. And I realized, neither did you."

_I was motivated by my right to rule. I wouldn't expect a mere ant to understand such a notion._

"Yet you hesitated. You felt the need to explain yourself to this ant," Phil argues.

He's unsurprised when Loki hesitates to answer. Again.

"You were lied to. There is no excuse for that. But I firmly believe that we are what we choose to be," Phil says. He watches Loki glare back at him, knowing he's about to say something that could end very badly. "When we're vulnerable, weak or indecisive, we're… malleable. We can be shaped. More-so, we can be shaped to suit others' needs. What I want to know is… who shaped you?"

Loki pulls a finger quickly across the page, his eyes alight with something more than anger.

_What is your game?_

Phil chooses his words carefully. "Thor speaks of you fondly. He speaks of the good man his brother once was. He speaks in a way that makes me sure that Thor fully believes that good man still exists somewhere. I've plotted to a certain point on the metaphorical timeline… what I need from you is a name."

_I am who I choose to be!_

"You choose to be a pawn?"

Phil instantly knows he's gone too far. He's certain that, were it not for his shackles, Loki would be treating him to a fate much worse than a simple spear through the back. When the god rises abruptly, he forgets that for a moment, even as Steve rises in his defense. With his green eyes ablaze with fury, Loki looks for a moment to be the monster he thinks of himself as. In that split second, Phil is lost in the memory of their last confrontation. He does his best to school his features, but he knows he's lost; Loki has seen the fear in his eyes.

And then the god departs, taking the small victory. Phil is reminded again of their confrontation and of how Loki needed to leave feeling as though he'd won. Perhaps, this time, he had.

"Come on, let's get back to the others," Steve says, holding his hand out to Phil.

Phil wets his suddenly very dry lips. "I'd prefer if we stayed. Just for a minute."

Steve frowns but doesn't argue and resumes his seat. Phil's grateful for that; he doesn't trust his shaking legs to stand at the moment. He stares at the surface of the table, lost in thought, and fails to notice the soldier's hand come to rest on his shoulder.

"Phil," Steve says quietly.

He knows Steve can feel him shaking.

"It's fine," Phil hears himself say.

"Tell me what you need," Steve all-but whispers.

Phil needs to talk.

"There's something not right. I knew on the Helicarrier. But I don't know who's behind it," he says. "Loki is a petulant child, prone to lies and mischief. But I believe Thor. There's too much evidence to suggest there's someone pulling his strings."

"We've all thought the same, that something big would be coming," Steve answers. "But so far we haven't gotten any hint at what that might be."

"I think Loki is the key," Phil says. He turns his head, looking out over the kingdom. "It's hardly any wonder, that he feels betrayed. I can't imagine it's easy, coming to find that he was never meant to be his brother's equal. That this kingdom was never meant for him. Fathers are strange things, Steve. I believe that Odin loves Loki as sure as any father loved their son… but it doesn't change the fact that something in that relationship was wrong from the start."

Steve's arm is wraps around him, his warmth and strength offering a familiarity that Phil clings to. He's not ready to talk about how he feels about death. He fears it, like any mortal being does, but in a way that's different from before. He's died—three times, while they struggled to keep him alive—and he doesn't want to go back. Not so soon, not after he struggled to remain. Not after everything he's gained. Not while he's still needed.

"You know, when you said we are what we choose to be," Steve says, interrupting his thoughts, "I think we also choose our kingdoms."

"I think," Phil answers, "that you may be right."

"It's a shame Loki can't see that."

"It is."

He feels Steve's chin rest on his shoulder. The soldier speaks quietly to him, just above a whisper.

"Do you want to know what my kingdom is?"

"What?"

Phil's struck dumb by how blue Steve's eyes are as the soldier lays a hand flat against the left side of his chest.

"This. I'm happy ruling this," Steve tells him.

The words are soft and honest in a way that dispels any lingering sense of fear. He can't possibly be fearful when this wonderful, miraculous man is looking at him with such unspoken love in his eyes.

"I'm starting to think that might be what it was made for."


	15. Nurturing

Phil suppresses a sigh as he flips through the expenditure reports on his desk. When Fury had said he was putting him back on active duty, this wasn't exactly what Phil had in mind. But he can't deny that Peter Parker and the other kids do need some guidance… and that he himself isn't quite as healed as he likes to let others believe he is. Especially not after that confrontation with Taskmaster. As it turns out, being ambushed, knocked unconscious and strung up in his underwear isn't exactly conducive to physical therapy. Or to his self-esteem. Being caught so off guard and taken down so easily only further proves Fury's point; he isn't on top of his game.

All of this means that, for now, he's going to do his duty and remain where he is. Sitwell is more than capable of handling The Avengers in his absence. He's been doing so for months, after all.

He looks up when he hears a knock on the door and quickly places any sensitive S.H.I.E.L.D. files in his desk drawer.

"Come in," he calls.

He's more than a little surprised to see Steve Rogers poke his head through the space he's created by edging the door open. The Captain comes bearing his usual trademark smile.

"Sorry to bother you. Are you busy?" Steve asks.

"Not at all," Phil replies, pleasantly surprised by the man's unexpected appearance. He gestures to the seat in front of his desk. "Please."

He tries not to stare when Steve steps into his office—Captain America is standing in front of him in full dress uniform, his hands folded behind his back. Steve doesn't take the seat offered to him, but instead remains standing. He looks strangely uneasy and immediately Phil's stomach jumps.

"Is everything all right?" he asks, half rising from his seat until Steve raises a hand to stop him.

"It's fine. Really, uh… You know, this seemed like a much better idea earlier," Steve said with a soft laugh. "So, how are things with the kids?"

Phil raises an eyebrow. "Well enough. They're learning. I'd like to believe they walked away from their cleaning duty a little more humble than before… but I'm sure that won't last long."

"Fury seems to think you're doing some good here," Steve tells him. "And I have to say, if there's anyone suited to herding a bunch of superpowered children, it's probably you."

"I suppose I should take that as a compliment," Phil says with a shake of his head.

"You know, when Fury first told me how seriously you were taking this job, I was thought he was pulling my leg," Steve says with a bright grin. "Exactly how long _did_ you spend straightening out the school budget?"

Phil clears his throat and folds his arms over his chest as he leans back in his seat. "…not long."

Steve just continues to grin. Phil offers him a flat stare in return. In the months since his death, he and Steve have struck up something of a friendship. The initial fanboy jitters have worn off—mostly—so that he can trust himself not to blurt out anything embarrassing. Most of the time. Sometimes Steve being around, grinning that grin, gets his stomach flipping for a different reason altogether. But he doesn't like to think about that.

Thinking about it seems somehow disrespectful. He knows that a crush is harmless—it's not like he's watching the man while he showers or following him night and day. But Steve is a teammate and a friend, and having the sorts of feelings he's having at all is just flat out unprofessional. So he does what he's famous for and quashes the emotion down until he _is_ professional.

But Steve's looking at him now with those too-blue eyes and that soft, fond expression he sometimes gets and Phil can't very well help it if he's got a few rebellious butterflies in his stomach.

"You're good for them. Fury could have stuck anyone here and they'd have gotten the job done; if it's one thing I've learned it's that agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. are the kind of efficient you don't mess around with," Steve tells him. "I know you'd rather be back with us—and believe me, as much as we like Sitwell, we want you back—but I don't think there's any better set of hands these kids could have been placed in. But I think, in a way, you kind of like it here. I think you like watching things grow and having a part in that growth."

Phil hums. "If that were true, I think I'd have fewer dead plants in my apartment."

Steve rolls his eyes. "Phil."

"Okay, you win," Phil acquiesces. "I like watching things grow. These kids have potential, but they need help getting there. I think between all of us, maybe we can help them reach the things I know they're capable of. They're the future of The Avengers… they just need a hand in starting down that path. Speaking of, I've got a meeting with Parker and Alexander shortly…"

"Ah, right. Guess this is a bad time," Steve says.

"Not at all. I'm sure they'd be glad for a visit from Captain America," Phil answers with a smile.

"Right, about that. I was kind of hoping to avoid everyone else today," Steve admits.

"Does this have anything to do with the dress uniform?" Phil asks, looking him over curiously.

"In a way. The reason I stopped by today was actually… well…"

Phil's not sure what to think when Steve finally draws both his hands from behind his back—to reveal a modest bouquet of flowers.

"I'm sorry if this is a bit forward," Steve says, looking determined all the same, "but I was wondering if you'd have dinner with me."

Steve must read the confusion on Phil's face, because he clears his throat as his cheeks turn a bit pink.

"I mean as a date."

Phil mentally winces at the words that come out of his own mouth. "A date. With me."

"Yeah," Steve says slowly. "Look, I'm sorry if I misinterpreted how you might feel, so you can feel free to—"

"No. No, you didn't misinterpret at all," Phil is quick to tell him. "I thought I'd done a better job of hiding it, though."

"You did. Trust me. The thing of it is, Pepper kind of encouraged me to act on my own feelings with the reason being that I might be pleasantly surprised by your response," Steve explains, turning the bouquet over in his hands. "I don't have much experience with this and never with a fella, so… is this okay?"

Phil nods slowly. "Yes. This is very much okay."

"Great! So… dinner then," Steve says.

"Yes. Dinner."

"Whenever you're free."

"Will Friday night around seven work for you?"

"Works perfectly."

Steve stands in front of the desk as an awkward silence descends upon them. Phil's a little numb. He's just been asked out on a date. By Steve Rogers. Steve asked _him_ out on a _date_. And suddenly the thought springs into mind—Steve doesn't know. The man doesn't know that Phil can't offer him the normal relationship he's probably looking for. The kind of relationship he deserves. And, selfishly, Phil can't bring himself to say anything. He knows he should stop this before it starts, but he wants it too badly.

Steve is standing at the side of his desk now, gently laying the bouquet on top of it.

"I guess I'll just leave these here," Steve says. "I should go before the kids come around."

Phil stands, with a nod.

"Yes," he says, clearing his throat. As much as he tries, he knows his cheeks must be flushed by this point. "And I'm really looking forward to our… date."

Steve suddenly breaks out with that grin again, any trace of awkwardness or embarrassment evaporating. "Really? You are?"

"I really am," Phil answers, offering a small, gentle smile of his own.

"I'm glad to hear it," Steve says, holding out his hand. "Friday night at seven, then?"

Phil hesitates a moment before reaching out and shaking the Captain's offered hand. "Friday night at seven."

But Steve doesn't let go. They stand there silently, and as Phil watches the man's eyes, he knows the soldier is contemplating kissing him. He's not sure what to think about that; it's something he's thought of before, once or twice, but actually having it happen is another story entirely. The hand holding his squeezes gently and he feels a calloused thumb run over his knuckles.

"Would it be too forward if I kissed you?" Steve asks quietly.

Phil should say yes. He should say that they would be better to wait. That they haven't really considered each other from a romantic standpoint nearly long enough (this is a lie). But he finds himself gravitating towards the man instead.

"No," he answers, equally quiet.

"Good," Steve says.

It feels like everything is being slowed down as Steve's head dips down. He's never felt the moment leading up to a kiss take so long before. He feels the warm puff of the other man's breath on his lips, the tingling of the last centimeters about to be closed, and—

"Sorry we're late, Coulson, there was this thing with the mashed potatoes and—_whoa_ okay then."

Phil draws back hurriedly, dropping Steve's hand as he hears Peter Parker's voice and turns his head to see the teen standing beside a gleeful Sam Alexander.

"Oh my god this is the greatest thing, tell me I have my phone," Sam says.

"Parker. Alexander. _Out_," Phil says, his tone clipped. "Not a word of this."

The two boys shake their heads rapidly, their hands raised defensively as they slowly back out of the office. Phil sighs deeply, knowing the moment had definitely been too good to be true. Steve looks positively mortified.

"I apologize," Phil says.

"No, that was… I mean they're just kids, right?"

_"HEY GUYS, PRINCIPAL COULSON IS __**TOTALLY**__ BONING CAPTAIN AMERICA."_

Sam's voice is unmistakable.

"This is the future of The Avengers?" Steve asks, his tone flat.

"…I did say we have a lot of work to do," Phil sighs.

He's surprised when Steve gives him a quick peck on the cheek.

"Then get to it, soldier."

He chuckles. "Yes, sir."

As Steve makes a quick exit, Phil resumes his seat at his desk. With these kids, he's certainly got his work cut out for him.


	16. Crest

**A/N:** When I saw this word, I couldn't resist writing it to fit with the little discovery I made a few months ago in regards to the Coulson family crest and motto.

* * *

"What's this?" Steve asks.

He hears Phil shuffling behind him before leaning over his shoulder with a thoughtful hum. They're in the process of packing Phil's things to be moved into Avengers Tower; Tony has just completed Phil's floor and they're wasting no time in getting him moved in where they can all keep an eye on him. The agent protests from the beginning (and continues to protest). But they're having none of it. He puts up quite a fuss when Steve offers to stay late and help pack up a few more things. Steve argues that Phil can't do as much with his arm bound in a sling and that he should be _resting_ but the man is some kind of stubborn, as Steve is beginning to discover.

"Haven't seen that in quite some time," Phil says. "That was left to me by my father."

Steve dusts off the small wooden box in his hands. In doing so, he can see something painted on the lid. It looks something like a coat of arms. There's an inscription with it; _Coulson_ below and… something else above. The painted words above have been mostly worn away by time. Steve wonders what they were meant to say.

"The family crest," Phil says by way of explanation. "Captain—"

"Steve."

"Steve," Phil amends. "You don't have to feel obligated to stay. I can handle the rest myself."

Steve is about to argue that he has no problem with staying but abandons that idea when he gets a good look at the man. From where he's kneeling, Steve is looking up at the agent and the fatigue is easy to read on Phil's face. At once he feels guilty for not noticing sooner—the man looks fit to collapse. He places the box gently aside before standing.

"You should have just said you needed to rest," Steve says.

"I don't need to rest," Phil assures him.

"You need to rest," Steve admonishes.

"I appreciate the concern, but I'm—" Phil says, his sentence dwindling off. "I'm fine."

Steve knows the warning signs well by now, and reaches out quickly, his hand grasping the agent's right arm. Phil's face is ashen as he squeezes his eyes tightly closed, swaying on the spot until Steve places a steadying hand at the small of his back.

"Easy there, soldier," Steve says, his tone hushed. "You're all right. I've got you."

With how close they are, he can hear every quickened breath from the shorter man. He can feel the tremors running through Phil's frame as the agent forces himself to remain upright. Gradually, he watches Phil recover from the dizzy spell. They tend to come and go without warning; one of the many reasons Fury has flat out refused to allow the agent anything more than sparse paperwork. Everyone seems to recognize Phil's need for rest except for Phil himself.

"I apologize," Phil says at last, his tone weary.

"Don't be ridiculous," Steve answers, keeping his hold on the agent. "Come on, let's get you to your bed."

It's a testament to how exhausted Phil is that he doesn't protest. The agent's bedroom is just across the hall, and Steve steers him there quite easily. He hears a few mumbled words of thanks as he helps the man into bed and is amazed to find that Phil is fast asleep before he can even pull the covers over him. Steve stays and watches for a few minutes, counting the agent's deep, even breaths until he's sure Phil is all right.

He leaves the door cracked as he leaves the room, walking across the hall to continue packing while Phil enjoys a much-needed sleep.

* * *

"What'cha up to there, Capsicle?" Tony asks.

Steve is too busy frowning at the device in his lap to pay much mind to Tony's nickname.

"You said I could look up things on the Internet, right?" Steve asks.

"Sure did," Tony hums, plopping himself on the sofa beside Steve.

"…how," Steve says dejectedly.

Pepper suppresses a smile as she watches from the kitchen table with Natasha and Bruce. The two women are enjoying a quiet cup of tea with the doctor and, seeing as Tony is _actually_ showing Steve how to use the Stark Tablet with minimal joking at the soldier's expense, they're loathe to interrupt.

"Okay, I think I'm getting the hang of this," Steve says after twenty minutes have gone by. He smiles at the man next to him, bright and honest. "Thanks a lot, Tony."

"Tony Stark being nice without having to be asked? What is the world coming to?" Bruce jokes softly, coming to stand at the back of the sofa.

"You watch that smart mouth or it's no more blueberries for you," Tony answers, wagging a finger at him.

"What are you looking for, Steve?" Pepper asks with a smile, looking over his shoulder.

"Here, I'll show you," Steve answers.

He reaches into the bag sitting beside him, producing the small wooden box bearing Phil's family crest. Pepper runs a thoughtful hand over the lid when Steve hands it over to her. It's funny to him how she handles the object in much the same way as she handles Phil these days—lovingly and with great care. He likes that about Pepper.

"The paint has faded away quite a bit and you can't even read the motto anymore. So I thought it'd be a nice gesture if I could look up what the crest is supposed to look like and try to restore it," Steve explains.

"I think that's a great idea, Cap," Natasha says approvingly. "Any luck finding it yet?"

"Yeah, I just did here."

Tony clearly needs to have another talking to about personal space, because he's suddenly crowding Steve so he can see the web page, scrolling down without permission. He jabs a finger at the motto.

"He's a goddamn Frenchman," Tony hisses. "The fondness for pastries should have been a hint."

"Actually it says the surname is English," Bruce is quick to point out. "What's that motto mean, anyhow?"

"_Je mourrai pour ceux que j'aime,"_ Pepper reads. "It means: 'I die for those I love.'"

Bruce's quiet "Oh" is the only noise for a moment. Steve feels that same feeling in his stomach again, the one he got when he was supporting the agent through his dizzy spell the night prior. It's hard to put a finger on what it is exactly, he just knows it's the strangest combination of positive and negative feelings he's ever felt.

"Well," Pepper says, breaking the silence that had descended over them, "I think that will be a wonderful gift, Steve. I'm sure he'll appreciate it."

"Especially since he used to keep his Captain America trading cards in it as a kid," Natasha comments.

The group looks to her collectively. She shrugs, sipping her tea.

"I know stuff."

Steve isn't sure he wants to know the depth of information that falls under the umbrella of "stuff" so he leaves it there. Tony is uncharacteristically silent before he leaps up and grabs Bruce by the arm, tugging the poor doctor off in the direction of the labs, running his mouth at a million and one miles per hour in a language that Steve knows is English but only sounds like moonspeak to him.

Just as well.

He has work to do.

* * *

Steve can read two things on Phil's face when the agent allows him entry to his newly christened floor of the Tower: 1) That Steve was the last person Phil had been expecting, and 2) that Phil had been awoken by JARVIS announcing Steve's entry request and was not at all happy that he'd fallen asleep in the first place.

"Captain—"

"Steve."

"Of course. Steve. That's right, you said that already," Phil said, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, it's just habit. What can I do for you?"

"Nothing, really. I just wanted to see how you were settling in," Steve says. He produces the box from behind his back and holds it out. "And I wanted to return this."

Phil takes the box back, looking surprised. He looks even more-so when he sees the lid. "You had it restored."

Steve shrugs. And damn it all if Phil isn't talented when it comes to reading people.

"No. You restored it yourself," Phil corrects himself.

Steve just offers a small smile and watches silently as the agent carefully traces over Steve's careful handiwork.

"Open it," Steve suggests.

Phil quirks an eyebrow, but does as Steve suggests. The soldier is amazed by the sudden change that comes over the agent; the way his eyes crinkle fondly, his lips quirk up in the barest of smiles, and he swallows thickly. Steve isn't sure how long Phil stares at the content of the box. It's a simple photo, but a good one, if he says so himself. It wasn't easy getting all the Avengers, Pepper, Fury, Hill and Agents Sitwell, Cale, Garrett, Jackson and Delancey in one place for a photo. But the multiple shots taken (and fired) were well worth it in the end.

"I sort of hoped it would do in lieu of a proper housewarming gift," Steve says.

"It's… Yes. It certainly does," Phil says. When he looks up, Steve can see his eyes are filled with silent gratitude. "Thank you."

"No, thank _you_," Steve answers. "That's… You know, that's some family motto there, Agent Coulson."

"Phil."

"Phil, then," Steve says with a grin.

"And yes, it's…" Phil says trailing off thoughtfully. "It's a good motto."

"Yeah. It is," Steve adds. He sucks in a great lungful of air. "So, Agent Romanoff tells me you used to keep your trading cards in that box."

He has to laugh at the enormous sigh that escapes the shorter man. They wind up on the couch, talking for hours—about good things, happy things that make Phil smile and Steve laugh—and Steve is certain that, while it's a very good family motto Phil has, he's going to do everything in his power to make sure the agent doesn't try to follow it again anytime soon.


	17. Cactus

"What in God's name is that?" Delancey asks, pausing with his coffee cup halfway to his lips.

"It's a plant, what does it look like?" Jackson answers from where he's leaned against the opposite wall, arms folded across his chest as he nurses a coffee of his own.

"We'd be lost without your wisdom," Delancey says dryly. "I mean what kind of plant is it and why is it on Coulson's desk?"

"It's a Christmas Cactus," Garrett pipes up from his seat on the sofa.

The other three give him a look. He rolls his eyes.

"I had a very kitschy college girlfriend," he says defensively. "But anyway, it doesn't answer why it's here."

"Don't you guys know?" Cale says with a wicked grin. "It's from Lover Boy."

Delancey snorts.

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh Steve Rogers," Cale croons, his voice high-pitched and squeaky. "Captain of my heart~"

Garrett makes a disgruntled noise and shoves the younger agent away when Cale puckers up and starts making kissy faces at him. Jackson just shakes his head as the two young bucks wind up in a shoving match that nearly ends with Garrett's half-drunken cappuccino spilling all over Phil's office sofa. Dalancey puts the squabbling to an end by boxing Cale's ears.

"Ah, Christ, Mickey! What am I, five?"

Delancey smacks him over the back of his head. "Apparently. And don't call me Mickey."

"What did Cap get him a cactus for?" Jackson asks, cutting through their chatter.

Cale rubs the back of his head sullenly. "…for Christmas?"

"No, he'd get the boss something nicer than a cactus. Cap's a fine fella," Jackson reasons.

"I think the question we need to be asking is why anyone would trust him with something green and living," Delancey points out.

"Good point. I find it hard to believe that Cap doesn't know yet that everything the boss touches dies," Garrett hums thoughtfully. "Remember the orchids?"

"Or the azaleas."

"The philodendron."

"The ficus."

"The peace lily."

"Ah, I miss the peace lily," Cale sighs. "It made such a great opening for _Hot Fuzz_ jokes."

"Well, I suppose there's only one responsible thing to do," Jackson says.

The three look to him expectantly.

"We'll have to take care of it," Jackson declares.

"I'm not following," Delancey admits, looking particularly unamused by the suggestion.

"We know this thing's not going to make it if left to the boss's tender mercies," Jackson explains. "And how do you suppose Cap'd feel if he sees that Coulson went and let it die? Not exactly healthy for a relationship, is it?"

"I don't believe this," Delancey says as he narrows his eyes and jabs an accusing finger at Jackson. "You're still bent out of shape over when I told Angie you let her tulips die!?"

"You're a snitch, Mickey," Jackson responds.

"It was _three years ago_, Brent."

"And do you suppose she's let me forget it?"

"Okay, old people problems are done now," Cale interrupts. "Are we going to water this fucker or not?"

The four of them stand crowded around the desk, bent over to examine the plant.

"It's the decent thing to do," Garrett decides with a nod.

"I suppose we don't have a choice," Delancey says with an exaggerated sigh.

"We'll set up watering rotations," Jackson informs them. "Based on who's nearest to his office when he's not in it. Jon, you learn anything about these things from that kitschy girlfriend of yours?"

"More than I'd ever want to know."

"Then debrief us, agent."

* * *

"I just thought it'd brighten up your office a little. It wasn't really that terrible an idea, was it?" Steve asks, a frown settled on his face.

"No, it was very thoughtful. Thank you," Phil assures him with a small smile.

"But in the future, I'd avoid giving him plants of any kind," Jasper adds, ignoring the look the other agent throws his way.

The three of them stand looking through the window to Phil's office, watching the four agents inside crowd around the small plant. Not one of them has noticed the three of them standing there yet, so they see nothing wrong with waiting around until they do.

"It's not true, though," Steve says suddenly.

"What?" Phil queries.

"That everything you touch dies," Steve clarified.

"Greenery and I… do not have the best track record," Phil admits.

"Okay, well… cacti are pretty hardy little plants, aren't they?" Steve asks.

"Salads wither in his sight," Jasper contributes. "Nature has yet to create the plant that can be labeled as Coulson-proof."

"Agent Sitwell, do I need to tell Captain Rogers about the time you were tasked with watching Agent Hill's cat?" Phil asks in a deadpan tone.

When Jasper's only response is to take a long sip of scalding hot coffee, Steve decides it's not a story he wants to hear. Had he known any of this beforehand, he wouldn't have bothered with a plant, but at the very least, his poor Christmas Cactus seemed to be in good hands anyway. With a hand on Phil's shoulder, he leans in to watch as the four agents in the office plot to save the plant from Steve's good intentions.

Although, the longer he watches, the more he's certain that it may be better off with Phil.

* * *

**A/N:** A quick note on Delancey and my other S.H.I.E.L.D. babies: Delancey's first name is Tucker, but his middle name is Michael. Back when he first became a part of Phil's little group, Jackson called him "Mickey" jokingly and the much-loathed nickname stuck.


	18. Passion

**A/N:** Trigger warning for a very brief mention of rape.

* * *

He'd only stopped in to make sure Phil would still be able to make their dinner date that night before he went off to the gym for a few hours.

"Hey, I just wanted to check in before—Phil?"

His words sound worried and confused; and for good reason. The agent is hunched forward over his desk, one hand supporting his head and the other curled into a fist on the desktop. Steve closes the door behind him, moving forward. He can see his partner is breathing heavily.

"Are you all right?" he asks.

"I'm… I'm not sure," he hears Phil say.

"Tell me how you feel," Steve says.

"Hot. I feel… My head feels fuzzy and my skin tingles," Phil answers. He leans back in his seat and Steve gets a good look at him: his face is flushed and his eyes fever-bright. "I feel… strange."

"Strange in what way?" Steve asks, laying a concerned hand on the agent's shoulder.

It's a surprise when Phil flinches from his touch, and even more of a surprise when the man hangs his head and _moans_. He withdraws, but swivels Phil's chair to face him and leans in when he sees the smaller man's shoulders are shaking. He presses his forehead to Phil's feeling heat radiating off the man before they even touch.

"God, Phil, you're on f—"

He's abruptly cut off when Phil grabs him by the collar of his shirt and crushes their lips together. At first, he's too surprised to do much other than stand there dumbly, but after a moment he pulls back abruptly. He straightens and curiously, Phil follows, rising from his seat. Steve does the only thing he can think to do and leads the shorter man to his office's sofa.

"Phil, you're sick," Steve says as gently as he can manage. "Lie down on the here while I make a call to medical, all right?"

"Yes. I'm sorry, I'm not sure what came over me," Phil admits shakily.

After a few minutes on the phone, Steve is no less worried. He's been informed that medical is receiving dozens of similar reports from other agents and that they'll be sending someone along to collect Phil and him shortly. They're not sure what's causing it, but anyone in contact with any agent suffering from whatever's going around is being quarantined also.

After he's hung up, Steve returns to the sofa. Phil is hunched forward once again, and Steve takes a seat beside him.

"They're sending a team up now. Apparently this is something that's going around. They're trying to contain it, but it'll be a few minutes," Steve says.

Phil isn't answering him. He reaches out a hesitant hand and Phil flinches again, gives the same reaction as last time… with one difference. Just as Steve's about to withdraw his hand, Phil reaches up and grabs him by the wrist. The agent nuzzles his open palm and Steve can feel the heat radiating off his skin along with the tickle of quickened breaths.

"Please."

The word is spoken in a soft, devastated tone of voice.

"What is it?" Steve asks as he scoots closer. "Tell me what you need."

And then Phil's kissing him again. Whatever's wrong with the agent, he figures he's been infected already, and it's hard to ignore the man curling his fists in Steve's shirt, kissing him with so much passion that it's like his life depends on it. In the back of his mind, he wonders if this is right, if he should be going along with this, but Phil's pulling him down on top of him and he just can't seem to think straight. Especially not when he feels the smaller man's hand between his legs, palming him until he's half hard and breathless.

It's what happens next that finally snaps him out of it.

"You shouldn't—you're not well," Steve breaths against his lips.

"I don't care, I need… I need to…"

Steve shifts, pulling back abruptly. His leg is positioned between both of Phil's and with their proximity, it's impossible to mistake the feeling of the agent's erection pressing against his thigh. Phil's fingers curl in his shirt, trying to drag him back down. But Steve won't have it. It's all wrong.

"Please," Phil says again, drawing uneven breaths. "I need you. I need you to touch me, to… God, just… anything…"

"You don't want this," Steve says gently, reaching to grasp both of his partner's wrists.

"I do, I… Steve, please," Phil says, his eyes begging as his body shakes from head to toe.

He watches the agent carefully. Everything about the man's body language screams that he _does_ want it. Phil's told him he wants it. But the thing of it is, Steve knows Phil. It's because of this that he can see past the lust and want in the agent's eyes to what's underneath it: fear. Though it's barely there, visible only to someone who knows how to look for it, Steve swears he's never seen the man more afraid in all the time they've known each other.

Steve leans forward, placing a simple, tender kiss to his partner's forehead.

"I know you think you want this now, but you don't. You're not yourself," Steve says quietly. The agent struggles in his grasp and he tightens his hold, keeping him still. "I'm sorry."

It's painful having to keep Phil still as he begs and pleads for Steve to touch him. It seems like an eternity before the medical team arrives. Phil is sedated and they're both whisked off to be quarantined like the rest of the affected agents.

* * *

Coffee turns out to be the culprit. Well, not coffee precisely, but rather something _in_ the coffee. It turns out a pollen sample from an alien plant had gone missing from S.H.I.E.L.D.'s labs. Where it turned up was in the coffee supply, affecting anyone who drank it. On its planet of origin, the pollen was used as an aphrodisiac by the natives; the effect on humans turned out to be far, far stronger. Thankfully, S.H.I.E.L.D. had a serum to reverse the effects already on-hand and so everyone under the pollen's influence didn't end up staying under quarantine any longer than two days.

Steve and Phil had been separated when they were brought in. Although they were both released two days ago, Steve hasn't seen Phil since. He suspects that perhaps the agent is avoiding him and he feels no need to try to corner him, even though the avoidance stings. He supposes he shouldn't be surprised, though; from what he hears, Cale and Garrett haven't been able to so much as look each other in the eye when they pass in the hallways these days.

He's walking with Tony—who seems to find the idea of "sex pollen" highly amusing (and potentially marketable)—down the hall that passes Phil's office when the door opens abruptly and there is the man himself, looking his usual calm and composed self. He nods to Tony before looking to Steve.

"Captain Rogers, I was wondering if I might have a word," he says.

Steve casts his gaze to Tony, who shrugs and slaps him on the back. "I've gotta go test some new arrows with Clint anyway. You kids have fun, now."

Steve rolls his eyes, but steps into Phil's office anyway. He stands stock still in front of the desk, feeling oddly anxious as he hears the sound of the door being shut behind him and nothing further. They're standing in silence for almost five minutes before he hears Phil speak.

"I want to apologize for my behavior the other day."

He turns on the spot to look at the man. Phil is standing in front of the door, his hands clasped in front of him and his head bowed like a penitent.

"You don't have to. It wasn't your fault," Steve replies.

"Regardless, my behavior resulted in a situation that caused you a rather great degree of difficulty," Phil says. He looks up. "But you didn't do as I asked."

"I couldn't," Steve tells him.

"Even when I was begging you, you refused."

"It's not… It wasn't right. I know you and that wasn't you. It was that pollen talking. I'd never have been able to live with myself if I'd taken advantage of you like that," Steve says. "I didn't want to. I _don't_ want to."

When Phil falls silent again, Steve feels worry gnawing at his insides.

"Are we okay? Are we still okay after this?" he asks, his voice sounding small even to him.

"Come here."

He complies, stepping forward until there's barely a foot of space between them. It's a pleasant surprise when Phil reaches up to frame his face with his hands, pulling Steve into a slow, sweet kiss. Remembering what happened when Phil had kissed him only a few days prior, he pulls back worriedly. He hears Phil chuckle. It's a welcome sound.

"I'm fine," he assures him. "And we're fine. We're more than fine."

"Are you sure?" Steve asks, his arms looping around his partner's waist even as the words leave his lips.

"You could have done as I'd asked. I was giving you every green light imaginable and despite that, you didn't," Phil tells him. "You knew that I wasn't myself even without any clear knowledge of what was going on. Do you have any idea how much that means to me?"

"Anyone would have done the same," Steve says.

"That's the point, Steve. _Not_ everyone would have done the same," Phil corrects him.

"Well, if I didn't know you by now, don't you think there'd be something wrong with that?" Steve asks. "I set my mind to it the first night you told me. It took me a little while to properly understand what asexuality is, but I got there. If by now I can't understand that agreeing to do what you'd asked me to would equate to nothing short of rape, then I don't deserve to be with you."

Phil shakes his head and Steve can see the wonder in his eyes. But more than that, there's something else, something that makes his heart skip a beat. He's been waiting patiently for it since the night Phil first told him he was asexual and he told the agent he wasn't leaving. He's been trying to convince the agent of that fact ever since then. It's written plain as day in the man's eyes; Phil finally believes him.

"_I'm_ the one who doesn't deserve _you_," Phil says softly. Steve feels the agent's thumb brush across his cheek. "I'm sorry I avoided you these past few days."

"I understand. You probably had a lot on your mind," Steve answers.

"I did. I had a great deal of thinking to do," Phil admits, taking a deep breath. "I have to tell you something."

Steve is about to ask what that is but is dragged down into another kiss before he can get the words out. Not that he minds. If the office hadn't been so silent, he would have missed the words, breathed softly against his lips like a prayer: _"I love you."_ Just three little words and yet they hold so much weight. In all the months they'd been dating he'd not once heard them from his partner. Not once had he said them himself. And yet, even without having spoken them, there had been no question in his mind that he was in love. To hear it spoken out loud, though… His heart felt fit to burst.

"I love you, too, Phil," he replies, feeling the man's smile against his lips. "Say it again?"

"I love you."

"One more time."

"Don't be greedy, Steve."

He laughs, but gets what he wants anyway.

Yes, he decides, they're more than fine.


	19. Picturesque

"This was a great idea," Steve says as he hammers another spike in the ground.

"I admit, I wasn't sure if the idea was going to appeal to you," Phil says, his arms laden with supplies.

"Are you kidding? I love camping," Steve proclaims. "No S.H.I.E.L.D. , no villains, no press, no technology… nobody but you and me. You know, I'm still amazed you actually took some vacation days."

"I have a reason to use them now," he hears Phil say.

Steve grins at the response as he hammers the last stake into the ground before rocking back on his heels to admire his handiwork. It doesn't look too bad, he has to say, considering it has about a hundred more parts than any tent he's used to. He stands up, brushes his knees off and walks around the tent to join Phil at the SUV.

The agent has already unpacked the vast majority of their supplies and seems to simply be checking to ensure he's retrieved everything. Steve takes a moment to survey their camp site. In the White Mountains of New Hampshire, he finds he can truly appreciate the autumn foliage. The sunlight filtering through the variety of red, yellow and orange leaves lends a warm glow to the area, making it seem as if the forest is lit up from within. The air is crisp and clean and he sucks in a great lungful of it as he walks up behind Phil—leaves crunching beneath his feet—and wraps his arms tightly around the shorter man's waist, earning him a brief laugh.

"This is going to be a fantastic weekend," Steve sighs contentedly.

"I'm thinking it just might be," Phil agrees, turning around to face him.

Steve kisses him there, pressed against the passenger's side door, the agent's hands tugging at the collar of his flannel shirt. He lets his hands wander down to Phil's hips and curls his index finger in one of the belt loops of the agent's trousers, tugging playfully.

"I never get to see you in jeans often enough," Steve says with a grin.

"You've seen me in jeans," Phil points out.

"Yeah, but not often enough," Steve reiterates.

Phil just smiles. "Come on. Let's finish setting up camp."

* * *

Phil decides that this is definitely one of his better ideas. He happily listens to Steve chatter about constellations as they sit with their backs pressed against a large rock and watch the fire slowly dwindle down to embers. Anywhere else and someone would say it's unreasonably chilly for September, but given their location it's hardly surprising. Besides, he's hardly complaining with Steve's arm wrapped tight around his shoulders and the fire in front of them.

"You forget how many of them there are when you spend so much time in the city," Steve notes.

"Too much light," Phil agrees.

"It's different than when Bucky and I used to look at them as kids," Steve hums.

Phil turns his head, watching his partner curiously.

"They were just stars then. Which in itself is something grand, don't get me wrong. But now I look at them and I wonder… how many of those are suns to another solar system? With planets that have their own civilizations? And maybe we'll meet them someday, who knows?" Steve murmurs.

Phil makes a thoughtful noise. "Thor certainly changed things here."

"Yeah," Steve agrees quietly.

"If you're ever more curious about some of those other galaxies… I know a guy."

Steve laughs. "I'm sorry, what?"

"An agent. From another agency. He's a bit rough around the edges but if you ever have any questions about the universe that you'd like answered, I can usually work a few responses out of him," Phil tells him.

Steve's laughing again, squeezing his shoulder. He's not sure whether the super soldier believes him or not. It's probably best if he doesn't, for now. Phil's not sure he'd like to let Steve meet that particular agent in the near future. But one day, perhaps. Someday, when the timing is right. His thoughts are interrupted when he feels moisture on his cheek. First one drop, then another. With a frown, he looks up to the night sky, noting patches where the stars aren't visible.

"Phil, I think we should—"

Steve's words are drowned out by a loud peal of thunder overhead. Just as they bolt up from where they're sitting, the heavens open up. It's a mad dash even in the short distance from their resting rock to the tent and they still manage to get soaked. Steve fumbles with the zipper before they both collapse inside, sealing the entryway behind them. They lie there for a moment, dripping freezing rainwater and Phil fumbles to turn the portable lamp on.

"Dammit, Thor," Steve says suddenly.

Phil sputters and that's all it takes for them to dissolve into a helpless fit of laughter. He can't remember the last time he laughed this hard with so little provocation. It feels good. It takes them a while to come down, lying on their backs and breathing harshly, the odd giggle or two still escaping one or the other.

"Guess that's the signal for bed," Steve chuckles.

"As clear as I've ever seen," Phil agrees, still grinning. He nudges the taller man with his elbow. "Let's get changed out of these wet clothes."

Steve presents no argument to that. For a few moments, there is only the deafening sound of rain pattering on the tarpaulin overhead. Phil shucks off his soaking sweater and shirt and is about to grab a dry substitute from his bag when he hears Steve make a noise. He turns his head to look and the Captain is standing there, his chest bare and his eyes questioning. Phil knows what he's asking without the man having to utter a single word. He nods and delights at the shy smile that alights on his partner's face in the dim light.

It's only another minute or two before they've both changed into a dry pair of boxers only and slipped into the sleeping bag that's clearly made for two before dousing the light. They lie facing one another in the dark and almost immediately, Phil feels Steve's hands on him, tracing his hip, the dip of his lower back, his spine. The slide of the soldier's hands on his bare skin is familiar now, a welcome touch.

"Have to preserve body heat and all," Steve hums.

"That is the worst excuse to touch me you've come up with yet," Phil replies in a flat tone.

"Yeah, well, I'm not the only one getting handsy here, am I?" Steve retorts.

It's true. When they're alone, Phil enjoys touching Steve. He remembers how surprised the taller man was to learn that. It was something Phil had learned about himself rather early on; he enjoys physical connections. For the vast majority of his life, however, he's kept that in check. He's gone out of his way to isolate himself in that regard, doing his utmost to resist even the slightest hint of contact with anyone he's close to. Steve's changed some of that.

At work, he's strictly professional, but when it's the two of them—or when they're in the relative safety of the company of the Avengers—he eases up, allows himself some form of physical connection. Usually it's small things such as a hand on a shoulder, a touch to the elbow, or perhaps their knees touching when they sit beside one another. And then there's the far more intimate touch that comes when they're in bed together.

Such as now. Phil takes his time tracing the ridge of Steve's collar bone, his strong jawline. Although he can't see it in the dark, he feels the Captain's smile when his finger's brush the man's lips. Like a blind man reading braille, he takes his time mapping out his partner's face. He feels a kiss placed to his open palm and smiles.

"I'm glad you agreed to this. You've been working too hard lately," Phil says.

Steve huffs a laugh. "I'm fairly certain you are the very last person to have any right to lecture others about working too hard."

Phil snorts. "Regardless, you have been. You deserve a break."

"I have a team to lead. And a country to serve," Steve reasons. "Being busy is part of the job, you know that."

"I'm not disagreeing with that. But even Atlas deserves to have the weight of the world off his shoulders once in a while," Phil says. "You've been exhausted. Super soldier or not, you can't push yourself to the kinds of extremes you've been going to without taking time to rest."

"Other people's problems have to come before my own," Steve says.

"At the very least, please try to relax this wee—"

His sentence drops off as his breath catches. One of Steve's hands has found its way to the scar on his back and, instinctively, he arches away from the touch, drawing closer to Steve himself as the man's name leaves his lips in a quick, anxious tone. A split second later, he manages to calm himself, embarrassed that this is still an issue for him. But Steve is patient, as always, waiting until he's relaxed before dipping his head to press soft, open mouthed kisses along the line of scar tissue that cuts like a lightning bolt through the Captain America shield tattooed over his heart.

They've grown comfortable with each other's bodies and boundaries, but this is one that Phil still struggles with. It's the chink in his armor that only Steve knows about. He'd been so reluctant to allow the super soldier to even see the scars and touch was something that was taking him even longer. He couldn't stand the guilty look in the Captain's eyes at the sight of them. So he'd done his best to hide them. Until Steve cornered him about it. It had been one of their few arguments, one that had ended with Phil being the one to apologize. He'd been irrational about it, he'd come to realize.

It's still difficult sometimes, but Steve looks at the scars differently these days. Where there once in his eyes was that great, crushing guilt—the look of a mistake made—there's now something entirely different. Phil can relax when Steve's not looking at them like they're evidence of his personal failings.

"Hard to believe it's already been a year and a half," Steve murmurs against his skin.

The super soldier's hands are chilled, but their movements are soft and reassuring.

"Yes," Phil says simply. His hands move to run through Steve's still damp hair. "A lot's happened."

"You can say that again," Steve says. "Times like this make it all worth it, though."

"You can say that again," Phil echoes, smiling when he feels a laugh against his chest and Steve's arms wrap around him tightly.

He's not sure who falls asleep first, amid hushed conversation and the sound of rain, but it hardly matters.

* * *

It's still fairly early in the morning when Steve wakes. The sun is risen just enough to bathe the tent in a honeyed glow while the air remains crisp and clean and cool. He huddles further into the sleeping bag and hears a small sigh as Phil nuzzles closer. The agent is also an early riser, but they've elected to rise late, just for this weekend. A bit of a lie in never hurt anyone.

He soaks in the collective warmth of their bodies, stretching briefly with a great, contented sigh before settling back.

"Morning," he hears Phil mumble.

"Morning," he says right back.

"How do you feel about pancakes?" Phil asks, his tone indicating that he's only half awake.

"How are you thinking about food already?" Steve asks with a lazy chuckle.

His stomach chooses that moment to growl.

"Hypocrite," Phil says.

"Oh, shut up," Steve mumbles.

"Eggs and pancakes and bacon," Phil says. "Agreeable?"

"And coffee," Steve hums.

"Coffee," Phil sighs, the word leaving his lips in the kind of tone most reserved for praising deities.

They're quiet for a minute, listening to the wind move through the leaves.

"Ten more minutes," Steve yawns.

"…fifteen," Phil murmurs.

"Twenty."

Phil mumbles something unintelligible into his shoulder and he decides they won't be getting up for quite a while.

* * *

Eventually they do deign to drag themselves from the comfort of the tent and get dressed. Thankfully, Steve had the presence of mind the day prior to throw a tarp over the firewood they'd collected so some of it was still dry and usable. Breakfast is a fairly simple affair, although Steve will argue that pancakes cooked in a skillet over a campfire taste better than anywhere else.

Once they clean up—making sure their food is tucked away where no wandering bears might come upon it—Steve sets up a chair and his easel and takes out his oil paints. Phil's chair is beside his and, once in a while, he'll hear the agent hum in approval over the top of the book he's reading. They sit for a couple hours in comfortable silence as Steve takes in the landscape.

He truly is glad they've got the next two days to themselves. It's the first real trip they've had alone together. Ever. And, as much as he might not want to admit it, he knows Phil's right. He's been feeling a little run down as of late and if he's being honest, feeling a bit frustrated by the fact that they've not had a moment to themselves in what feels like months. It's hard maintaining a healthy relationship when you're a full-time super hero and a scarily competent secret agent, but Lord knows they try.

They've been busier lately, for whatever reason. To the point where they sometimes go days without so much as a glimpse of one another. He's had an empty bed most nights—when he actually has made it to bed—knowing very well the occasions when Phil had come and gone in space of the few hours he'd managed to sleep. Private time, even something as simple as going out to dinner, had become wishful thinking. It certainly hasn't helped his stress levels, having Phil nearby every day and yet never having him truly within reach.

"I will not have brooding on my camp site, Captain Rogers."

He feels the paperback hit his head with a slight _thwap_ at the same time he hears the words. Turning in his seat, he shoots a mock-annoyed look in Phil's direction.

"I'm not _brooding_," he insists.

"You're brooding," Phil says. He shifts, pats Steve's knee as he rises. "Come on. Let's grab the rods and go catch ourselves some dinner."

"Yeah. I could use a break from painting anyway," Steve decides.

They gather the rods and the tackle box and set off walking towards the river. Phil's hand finds his and squeezes as they weave between the trees and through piles of fallen leaves. They're both quiet as they walk, leaves falling around them as they approach the river. They pick out a decent looking spot and set up before casting their lines. They stand close to one another, elbows touching as they watch the water patiently. They land a few nice rainbow trout, dropping them into the pail that they'd brought along.

"I miss you, you know," Steve says, his eyes still on the river. "That… probably sounds ridiculous."

"No, I understand what you mean. And I miss you as well. I'm sorry things haven't been going the way either of us would like lately," Phil answers. "I suppose that's why I was a bit selfish in hoping you'd say yes to a camping trip."

"Selfish?" Steve echoes.

"Well I did haul you off to the mountains to ensure I'd have you all to myself," Phil says with one of those half-smiles of his.

"Maybe you should be selfish a little more often, then," Steve informs him with a playful nudge of his elbow.

"I would if I could," Phil answers. He sighs. "For now, I'd just like to enjoy the few days we have alone. No work, no cowork—"

Phil's sentence is cut off by, of all things, a scream. They freeze, both their heads whipping to face the direction the noise came from. Shouting follows and that's all the provocation they need. Steve doesn't even hear the clatter of the abandoned fishing rods as they take off running through the forest. He's faster, of course, but Phil is not far behind him. Light and shadow flit across his face as they hurry towards the source of the scream.

They come upon a couple crouched together at the foot of a rather steep drop-off. It's plain to see what the shouting is about: the man's leg is caught beneath a sizeable rock. He's laid back, clearly trying not to scream as the woman tries her very hardest to move the rock. It barely budges an inch despite her best efforts. Steve can see blood.

"Step back ma'am!" he calls, hurrying over.

The woman appears startled, but does as he asks, moving to crouch beside the man's head. He doesn't have time to wonder where Phil is before he hefts the rock up and hurls it away. The man on the ground can't suppress a pained cry as the weight is lifted and the woman hurriedly strokes a hand over his forehead, trying to calm him. And suddenly Phil is there.

"Let's take a look at that leg," he says in that calm voice that Steve has grown used to hearing over the comm.

The woman is pale and shaking, but her eyes are dry. "Thank you, I… What are you doing out here?"

"Vacationing," Steve answers. The man is squirming, doing his best to smother any further noises of pain. He glances at Phil, watches his partner work with quiet precision, and decides he should focus on distracting the young couple. "I'm Steve and this is Phil. Can I ask what your names are?"

"I'm Nancy," the woman replies. "This is my husband Karl."

"And you're… vacationing?" Steve ventures.

"Honeymooning," Nancy says with a shaky smile.

"Congratulations," Steve says with raised eyebrows. "You're a lucky man, Karl."

"Don't I kno—ah, shit_shit_!" Karl curses.

"Sorry," Phil says. "The bone's broken in at least one spot. Setting it will be painful, I'm afraid."

"Bring it," Karl wheezes. "Not the worst I've had to deal with."

Karl groans and pants, his hand tightly squeezing his wife's as Phil gets to work. Steve watches for a moment as the agent breaks two decent sized branches into equal length pieces. Phil shrugs out of his sweater, handing it to Steve.

"Rip that into strips, please," he says.

Steve obliges, even as Phil begins speaking to the couple.

"Alright we're going to set and bind this leg. Once we've done that, we're going to take you back to our campsite and call for a little assistance. We'll have you en route to a hospital in no time," Phil says as Steve hands him the strips of his now destroyed sweater.

"Thank you. So much," Nancy says insistently. "I don't know what we would have done if you hadn't come along."

"Cut my leg off like that guy did with his arm in that movie," Karl says, his voice breathless.

"Well… let's just be glad that's not happening," Steve said, not wanting to say outright that he had no idea what the newlywed was talking about.

"Deep breaths, now," Phil interrupts calmly. "Here we go."

Steve has to commend Karl for barely making a peep as Phil binds his leg. The injury looks pretty gruesome from where he's sitting. It's another five minutes before Phil sits back on his haunches, his job done, and looks to Steve with a nod. After gaining Karl's permission, Steve lifts him with relative ease, making sure to carry him in a manner that will minimize how much the injury is shifted.

"Thank you again, really," Nancy says beside him. "I never thought we'd end up being saved by Captain America and his boyfriend."

Steve is a bit surprised by the way Phil's face colors at the word 'boyfriend.' For some reason… it's not a term he'd ever thought to apply to the man. He's just been Phil. And yet, hearing it from this woman somehow makes him feel proud. Nancy and Phil talk idly beside him and he clears his throat, looking to Karl.

"So you, uh… you know who we are then," Steve says.

"We should; I cleaned up enough of your mess," Karl snorts with an attempt at a grin.

"…mess?" Steve ventures.

"Manhattan. That big alien thing? About a year and half ago?" Karl says. "I'm with NYPD. 22nd Precinct."

"Oh," Steve says. He clears his throat. "Sorry."

"Just joking, Cap," Karl answers. "It's all part of the job, right?"

Steve takes a deep breath, smiles. "That's a phrase I hear way too often."

They pick up their abandoned bucket of fish along the way, but it's not long before they're back at their campsite. Steve busies himself making Karl as comfortable as possible along with Nancy's help as Phil calls for help.

"No, we're fine," Phil says into the radio, and Steve sees the small smile tugging at his lips. "We ran into a couple and one of them is injured. Broken leg. Puncture wound, not life threatening. Yes. Yes. Under ordinary circumstances I'd disagree, but that may be the quickest way at this point. We'll be waiting. Yes. Goodbye."

Steve looks up expectantly. "And?"

"They're sending a Quinjet," Phil says as he rejoins them. "It'll be a few hours, but they'll have medics on board who will take care of you until you're brought to a proper hospital."

"I appreciate it," Karl says as Nancy holds his hand. "Sorry, by the way. We seem to have ruined your vacation."

"Not at all," Phil responds, working to light a fire.

"Try to take a break from saving people and you wind up still saving people. Sounds like a ruined vacation to me," Nancy supplies.

"Saving people isn't something I ever intend to take a vacation from, unless it's a permanent one," Steve says seriously.

Karl snorts a laugh. "Jesus Christ, buddy, you're the real deal, aren't you?"

"Like you wouldn't believe," Phil adds. "Do either of you have objections to trout?"

"Oh, gosh, please, you don't have to do that, too," Nancy insists.

"It's no trouble."

"Well, let me help at the very least."

It turnes into something of a group effort between potato peeling and fish gutting and vegetable chopping. Karl, of course, was exempt from all this, resting as comfortable as was possible against the resting rock after downing some over the counter pain pills. The sun's started to go down by the time they finish cooking and sit around the campfire to eat. The conversation is easy and enjoyable and it doesn't escape Steve's notice that this is the first interaction they've had as a couple with people outside S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Avengers.

"I thought that was awful," Nancy says, cutting a piece of potato in half with her fork. "The way the tabloids attacked you like that. After everything you've done for everyone, too."

"It's the sort of thing I've grown to expect," Steve answers. "I'm learning to tune it out, mostly. I don't mind as much now when they say something about me, it's… well, when they've gone after Phil, I… sometimes lose my temper."

"You say it like it's something to be ashamed about," Nancy hums, sipping at her water.

"He doesn't like it when I get up in arms for his sake," Steve chuckles.

"I don't like anything that incurs needless paperwork," Phil says mildly. "Your chivalry is a PR nightmare."

"Well, I say good for you. Gotta protect what's yours and all that," Karl supplies with a nod. He appears drowsy but winces when he shifts positions. "You know, if you ever get time and you're interested, we'd love to have you both over to our place for dinner. To say thank you, y'know."

Steve and Phil exchange a look.

"That… would be great, actually. Thank you," Steve answers with a bright smile.

"Maybe you've guessed, but Steve and I don't do much socializing outside of work," Phil adds with a half-smile.

"Ugh, tell me about it," Nancy sighs. "You know this is the first double date Karl and I have ever been on? Isn't that sad?"

"It's probably a little sadder considering it's the same for us," Steve answers with a huff of laughter.

"Well, we can all be sad at our apartment over a good meal and a nice bottle of wine where no broken limbs or alien invasions are involved," Karl says. "Misery loves company and all that."

"Whenever you have time, of course," Nancy is quick to add. "I'm not one to brag, but I make a pretty amazing shepherd's pie."

"We'll look forward to it," Phil says with a genuine smile.

Eventually the Quinjet arrives and Nancy and Karl are taken onboard. Clint is there, as a 'just in case' or so he says. He's dressed casually, but Steve sees the bow strapped to his back when he turns. The archer raises his sunglasses to take in the scenery as the daylight fades.

"Nice view," Clint whistles.

"Yeah, it's something all right," Steve agrees.

"Oh, I'm supposed to tell you. Your vacation's been extended by two days. I was told by Fury, and I quote: 'Tell those motherfuckers if I see them anywhere near civilization before Thursday morning, I'll have their asses suspended and shipped off to the North Fucking Pole,'" Clint reports.

"We're not in that much of a hurry to come back," Phil says with a frown.

"I mean, everyone's doing fine without us," Steve says. He's silent for a beat. "Everyone's doing fine without us, right?"

"No one giving Sitwell problems?" Phil adds.

"Mom, Dad, we're big kids now. Able to microwave our own dinners and separate the darks from the whites and everything," Clint says with a smirk. He looks to Phil. "Besides, you can't tell me that you're not sleeping with that radio under your pillow. You'd know the second anything happened."

Steve tries not to laugh as Phil offers Clint a flat look inviting the archer to kindly shut the fuck up. Clint raises his hands and shrugs. He was only saying. No need to get testy.

"On your way, Agent Barton," Phil instructs, nodding towards the waiting Quinjet.

"Right, right," Clint says, waving a dismissive hand. He turns just as he's about to board. "And would you do us all a favor and just relax? Seriously. If you two would actually take your vacation, the rest of us would appreciate it."

Steve has to ponder that as they watch the Quinjet take off. He has no idea what it means.

* * *

Sunday and Monday are spent much the same way as the days prior. Long walks, fishing, and sleeping in. They're happy to hear that Nancy and Karl arrived safely at the hospital and send their thanks along. The pace changes abruptly on Tuesday morning. Steve knows something is different before he's even opened his eyes. The space beside him is empty. He bolts upright and looks about the tent. Phil's boots are gone, so he must have gotten up to go do… something. Frowning, Steve hurriedly jams his own pair on and exits the tent, looking about their campsite. A quick search lets him know that Phil is not there but it doesn't give him any clues as to where the agent might be.

Trying not to worry, Steve takes off into the woods. He doesn't shout, not just yet, unsure of the situation and whether or not that might do more harm than good. Too many battles have taught him to keep quiet and remain patient.

The air is cool enough for him to see his breath, to make each inhale sweet and chilled. It catches in his throat as he reaches the river. Phil is in the water, up to his waist and shirtless, obviously washing up. The agent stands still, simply allowing the water to flow around him unheeded. Despite the chill, despite the way his breath can be seen in the early morning air, Phil doesn't so much as shiver; he just stands in the water, unmoving, like he's one of the rocks that belong there.

Phil's body is a canvas for scars, old and new. The largest and most obvious runs along his left shoulder blade. There are a score of others. Some new, most old. Some Steve was there for, fretted over while they were fresh, still many others before his time. Each is its own story, many of which are still a mystery to him.

There's still a lot of things they don't know about each other. There's still so much time to find out what those things are.

Around him are the many splendors of nature, the things that inspire poets and artists and dreamers. As an artist himself, he'd be one of the first to wax poetic on the beauty of everything around them, but as it stands, all he sees is Phil.

"I didn't want to wake you," Phil says, without turning to verify that he's there. "I felt like a quick wash before breakfast."

Steve is striding forward against the flow of the river, fully clothed. It's cold.

"Steve?" Phil turns then, hearing him.

Steve's enthusiastic embrace sends them both toppling over into the water with a splash. They resurface and bob silently in the water, staring at one another. Steve's arms remain locked around the agent, keeping them pressed together.

"What's the matter?" Phil asks gently.

"Nothing. Nothing's the matter," Steve answers. "I don't know, I just saw you standing here and… Well, do you know what it's like when I see you sometimes and I just…"

Phil waits patiently for Steve to finish his sentence and, to his embarrassment, the Captain finds that he can't. Being a man of action, he substitutes action where words fail. His kiss is gentle, but insistent. The cold matters less and less as he feels Phil relax against him. He's got one hand cupping the agent's face as his other arm curls around the man's waist, hugging him close. Phil's hands are on his shoulders, his legs wrapping around Steve's waist as the current moves around them.

It's as he draws back, staring into stormy blue-grey eyes, that Steve can see Phil's in that wonderful little headspace where the constantly turning gears of his busy mind are slowed. Right then, he knows he's the only thing Phil sees.

"I still don't know how you do that," Phil says quietly.

"Do what?" Steve asks.

"Make everything just… stop," Phil replies. "Clear my head. It's incredible."

"I can say with some certainty that it's an activity that I take a particular sort of joy in," Steve informs him.

"That so?" Phil hums.

"You're always thinking about something. Always. Whether it's the team, or a mission, or the other agents, or someone's birthday, or making sure everyone's taken care of, or plotting a response to every worst case scenario in the book… your mind's always engaged," Steve explains, letting them drift slightly. "I can't claim to know how or why it works, but I do know that when I kiss you like that, you get some silence. And in the space of that silence… you only see me."

Phil's eyes haven't left his.

"You're always the first one I see. You'll very nearly always come first, save for those conditions we've discussed, and even then…" he says, trailing off. He regroups his thoughts. "But you're right. When you do that, you're the _only_ one I see."

"I like that," Steve says.

"I can bet you that I like it more," Phil says.

"That, Agent Coulson, is a bet you'll lose," Steve says, unable to suppress a shiver now. The water is so _cold_.

"Well, Captain Rogers, perhaps now might be a good time to comment on the blatant stupidity of your actions," Phil says, a teasing edge to his tone. "I thought you despised the cold."

"It's worth it if it means getting to you," Steve says point blank.

They stare at each other a moment.

"You know how much I despise it when you counter logic with romance," Phil says flatly.

"My toes are numb," Steve says.

"Your head is numb."

"Oh, real funny. If I go into hypothermia, I'm blaming you."

"Like that'll stick."

"It just might. You know how juries love the jilted lover angle."

"I'm not going up the river because of you, Rogers."

"If you won't go up it, can you get out of it, at least?"

Phil laughs a little too hard as he complies and they hurry back to camp.

* * *

They stay by the campfire for the remainder of the day, reading, sketching, and talking. By nightfall, they're huddled together, watching the fire crackle as Steve throws another log on.

Phil is the one who starts it.

He tips his head up, nuzzling Steve's jawline until the super soldier angles his head downward. The kiss is soft and innocent as he feels Phil's hands wander across his torso, sliding up under his shirt to dance across bare skin. The agent's touch is light, tender, tickling his abdomen so that that muscles shiver beneath his fingertips.

As this continues, Steve feels his pulse quicken as Phil's fingertips trace the patch of skin just below his navel then trail down to massage his hip. He groans as he feels his partner's hand find the growing bulge in his jeans and can't help but press into the touch when Phil fondles him.

"Would you like me to?" Phil asks, pulling back from their kiss long enough to get the words out.

Steve barely has time to answer "Please" before he brings their lips together once again. He's grown more comfortable with letting Phil touch him like this without having to do the same. In the beginning he'd balk and shy away, feeling selfish for something that Phil gained no pleasure from. Until Phil explained that he _did_ in his own way. There's nothing quite so convincing as having someone jerk you off while telling you with the utmost sincerity that they like being the only one allowed to take you apart.

"Phil?"

He blinks through the haze that had settled in his mind to find Phil moving away from him. Well, not away exactly, but down.

"Shh. Just relax," Phil instructs.

Steve feels his face grow heated as Phil moves down his body until the agent's face is in line with his groin. He squirms.

"Phil, I'm not… I mean, you…"

"It's all right," Phil says, running his hand soothingly along Steve's thigh. "We've talked about this, remember?"

"I… yeah," Steve admits. "But are you sure?"

"If I wasn't sure, I'd say so. You're fine," Phil assures him. "It's okay to let me do this for you."

Steve bites his lip and nods as Phil unclasps his belt, unzippers his jeans and tugs the waistband of his boxers down until his cock is freed. He feels his partner stroking him, slowly, but has to look away as he feels lips pressed to the tip. He groans obscenely, his head tipped back and his eyes squeezed shut as Phil slowly takes more and more of him into his mouth. One hand is pressed to Steve's hip, a reminder to keep still, while the other wraps around the base of his shaft, the portion that Phil can't take in his mouth.

It doesn't take long at all for Steve to get lost in the sensation of having Phil suck him off. Phil seems happy to take his time though, moving torturously slow to draw it out. Eventually, though, Steve knows he's close and won't be able to forgive himself if he doesn't warn his partner.

"Phil," he says, his voice sounding strangled to his ears. "I'm close. You should—"

He finally opens his eyes and looks down, his words dying in his throat at the sight that greets him. He supposes it's a rather pretty picture in itself seeing Phil between his legs with his cock in his mouth. But he feels a line of heat cut straight through his groin when he sees Phil looking up at him. Phil's _watching_ him. Three seconds of eye contact with that intense gaze and Steve's coming, gasping as Phil swallows him. He groans as his dick gradually softens and Phil's tongue continues to lick him clean. Eventually it becomes too much for his over sensitized nerves and he taps on Phil's shoulder, watching as the agent draws off of him and tucks him back into his pants.

Phil straightens up, one hand working his jaw, his eyes focused on Steve. For his part, Steve has to reach out, wiping away some of his cum from the corner of Phil's mouth before dragging the agent forward for a kiss. He feels Phil smile against his lips.

"Satisfactory, I take it?" Phil asks after a moment.

"Very," Steve murmurs.

Phil excuses himself shortly thereafter, citing a need to brush his teeth. Steve leans back against the resting rock, feeling drowsy and satiated. More so when Phil returns and they huddle beneath an enormous pile of blankets. He tips right over, nuzzling the junction between the agent's neck and shoulder comfortably. He smells like peppermint and pine.

Phil is telling him a story, one about Agent Sitwell's first assignment with him, but he doesn't seem to mind as Steve falls asleep right there.

* * *

Phil is the first to wake. He'd be cold, he thinks, were it not for the great, warm weight on top of him.

He allows himself a moment to curse himself for being lax enough to have let them both fall asleep beside the fire before taking in their situation. At some point in the night, he'd lost his sitting position. Currently, he's laid out flat on his back with Steve lying practically on top of him, his head resting on Phil's chest. At the very least, the blankets seemed to have mostly come with them.

He sighs and Steve makes a contented noise in his sleep, trying to snuggle further into the shorter man's sweater. Phil smiles, watching him. The barely risen sun filters through the trees, catching each strand of Steve's blonde hair, making it glow, giving his slumbering face an angelic appearance. There's a purity, something in him by nature, that makes Steve different. It's something that Phil's certain no one else will ever be able to match. Where there is strength, there is also surprising gentleness. Where there is anger, there is a carefully schooled calm.

There would be no Captain America without Steve Rogers. Yes, anyone could have undergone the super soldier project. Anyone could don the suit and fight the good fight. But none of them could be Steve. Dr. Erskine was able to see that, just as Phil was. Likely as most people could. He wonders if he tells Steve that often enough, if he communicates well enough just how truly special Steve is.

He reaches out, cards a hand through those strands and continues to do so, over and over, as Steve issues a soft hum like a purring cat.

"Steve," he says quietly, at last.

"Mmm?" is the hummed response.

"Come on, let's get in the tent. You can go back to sleep then," Phil says, starting to shift himself upright.

"Mmkay. Yeah," Steve answers, slightly more coherent.

He takes his partner's hand, trying not to laugh as the man shuffles behind him like Frankenstein's monster. But he knows what he himself is like before his coffee, so he keeps any and all amusement to himself.

They're hardly in the sleeping bag before Phil feels strong arms around his waist, pulling him close. His back is pressed to Steve's chest as the blonde essentially surrounds him. An overwhelming feeling of safety comes over him, and he thanks a god he hasn't believed in since he was eight that he has this man in his life. Never has he trusted someone so completely or been so sure that love does, in fact, exist and that he's, amazingly, neck deep in it. Feeling Steve's deep, even breaths tickling the back of his ear, he lets himself drift back into an easy slumber.

They'll be packing up once they've properly woken, but for a few more hours, none of that matters.

* * *

The next day at work has friends and co-workers asking about the trip. Mostly they ask about the scenery, the landscape. Pepper is the first to describe the it as picturesque, but when they hear that word, a quick glance between them confirms that neither Phil nor Steve are thinking about the foliage.


End file.
